JJBELL 


Wee 

Oh?  Christina!  Etc. 


JIM 


JIM 


BY 

J    J    BELL 

AUTHOR  OF 
1  WEE  MACGREGOR,"    "  OHl  CHRISTINA!  ",  &C.,  &C. 


HODDER  &  STOUGHTON 

NEW  YORK 
GEORGE  H.  DORAN  COMPANY 


COPYRIGHT,  ign,  BY 
GEORGE  H.  DORAN  COMPANY 


TO 

JIM'S  MOTHER 


2125964 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I  HE  APPROACHES  THE  OLDEST   INHABITANT    .  I 

II  MATTERS  OF   FACT  AND   FANCY  l6 

III  A    FIRST    VENTURE    IN    FICTION       ....  30 

IV  IN  THE  MAGIC  WOOD 43 

V  A  RAINY  DAY 57 

VI  THE   FIRST   SITTING 69 

VII  MRS.   SAMMY  SAVES  THE  SITUATION    ...  79 

VIII  JIM  TELLS  A  TALE 93 

IX  "  THE  PORTRAIT  IS  FINISHED "       .  IO4 

X  THE  DEPARTURE  OF  DAISY Il6 

XI  MR.  GIRDWOOD  WINS  A  PRIZE 127 

XII  UNTIL   THE   SPRING 14! 


HE  APPROACHES  THE  OLDEST  INHABITANT 

MR.  GIRDWOOD,  the  reputed  oldest  inhabitant  of 
Clure  Bay,  sat  on  the  narrow  bench  against  the 
front  of  his  cottage.  The  cottage  was,  as  the  poet 
said,  a  thatched  one,  but  the  outside,  though  a 
hundred  years  old,  would  have  struck  none  but  the 
most  jaundiced  eye  as  mean.  In  the  August  sun- 
shine the  lime-washed  wall  was  well-nigh  dazzling, 
and  was  only  saved  from  being  monotonously 
white  by  the  crimson  ramblers  on  either  side  of  the 
doorway.  The  door  itself,  like  the  frames  of  the 
two  little  windows,  had  been  recently  painted  a 
rather  vivid  green;  and  altogether  the  place  wore  a 
joyous  aspect. 

The  same  cannot  be  said  of  the  owner,  whose 
facial  expression  and  rigidity  of  body  betokened 
mental  strain  of  some  sort.  Yet,  but  for  the  rigid- 
ity, the  pose  would  have  been  natural  enough,  Mr. 
Girdwood's  back  in  its  Sabbath  coat  was,  perhaps, 
a  trifle  straighter  than  usual,  but  his  legs,  in 
their  Sabbath  trousers,  were  quite  in  their  every- 
day resting  attitude  —  that  is  to  say,  the  calves 


Jim 


made  right-angles  with  the  thighs,  and  the  feet,  in 
their  Sabbath  boots,  were  planted  flat  on  the 
ground,  about  twelve  inches  apart.  A  gnarled, 
brown  hand  covered  each  knee.  From  his  moleskin 
waistcoat  depended  a  heavy  silver  chain,  and  under 
his  grey  and  somewhat  untidy  beard  one  might  have 
gained  a  glimpse  of  white  linen.  The  only  article 
of  raiment  not  pertaining  to  the  Sabbath  was  the 
flat  bonnet  resting  on  the  shaggy  head ;  and  its  pres- 
ence instead  of  that  of  an  ancient  silk  hat  may  be 
explained  by  saying  that  Mr.  Girdwood  drew  the 
line  at  wearing  the  latter  on  a  purely  secular  occa- 
sion like  the  present. 

Half-an-hour  had  passed  since  the  old  man  had 
taken  his  position  on  the  bench.  His  collar  was 
irritating  his  neck,  and  he  was  assailed  by  a  crav- 
ing for  a  smoke.  It  was  warm,  too,  and  he  was 
inclined  to  drowsiness.  Over  the  strip  of  garden 
in  front  of  him,  gay  with  pansies  and  calceolarias, 
sweet  with  mignonette,  bees  laboured  and  butter- 
flies sported ;  yet  though  he  loved  every  inch  of  the 
soil,  he  never  once  let  his  eyes  fall  to  it.  He  could 
not  prevent  them  from  blinking,  and  he  had  a  de- 
sire to  rub  them ;  but  he  could  —  and  did  —  keep 
them  fixed  on  a  spot  in  the  meadow,  some  fifty 
yards  away. 

The  green  door  was  opened,  and  a  woman  stood 
pn  the  snowy  step.  She  looked  very  old,  yet  she 


He  Approaches  the  Oldest  Inhabitant     3 

was  but  little  bent,  and  she  impressed  one  as  being 
almost  literally  wiry. 

"  Samuel/'  she  said,  "  yer  denner's  ready." 

Mr.  Girdwood  paid  no  attention. 

"  Samuel,  yer  denner's  ready." 

Mr.  Girdwood's  clasp  on  his  knees  tightened. 
Otherwise  he  made  no  movement.  But  in  an  angry 
whisper  he  said  — 

"  Away,  woman,  away !     Ye'll  spile  the  pictur !  " 

Upon  a  hillock  in  the  meadow  James  Nevis  was 
busy  at  his  easel.  On  his  right  rose  a  wooded 
hill;  on  his  left,  under  sheer  cliffs,  lay  the  sea, 
stretching  away  into  the  summer  haze  that  con- 
cealed the  islands  of  the  firth.  In  front  of  him, 
and  a  furlong  beyond  the  white  cottage,  rose  the 
ancient,  ruined  castle,  perched  on  the  verge  of  a 
precipice  overhanging  the  little  harbour  and  fishing 
village.  He  wrought  assiduously  on  the  large  can- 
vas, for  there  were  certain  impressions  he  desired 
to  secure  ere  the  light  changed. 

On  the  grass,  close  by,  sat  his  son,  a  fair-haired 
little  boy  in  white  jersey  and  shorts  and  a  big  man- 
o'-war  hat.  He,  too,  was  painting,  but  evidently 
tiring  of  his  occupation. 

"  Your  sea  isn't  nearly  so  blue  as  mine,  Doody," 
he  remarked. 

"  Not  nearly,  Jim  Crow,"  Nevis  replied  absently. 


Jim 


"  But  you're  not  looking  at  mine.     Look  at  it !  " 

Nevis  obeyed.  "  Yes ;  yours  is  much  bluer. 
Aren't  you  going  to  put  a  boat  on  it?  " 

"  I  don't  see  any  boat." 

"  Oh,  beg  pardon." 

"  This  is  a  real  picture  —  an  artist  picture,"  the 
boy  explained,  tearing  it  from  the  sixpenny  block. 

"  Rather !  Are  you  going  to  do  another  ?  The 
castle?" 

A  head-shake  was  the  reply.  "  You  don't  get 
such  good  paint  when  you  don't  put  the  brush  in 
your  mouth.  I  wish  I  had  oil  paints,  Doody." 

"You'll  get  them  some  day.  Are  you  hungry 
now  ?  " 

Jim  glanced  at  the  basket  with  the  napkin  of 
sandwiches  and  the  pair  of  Thermos  flasks. 

"  No,"  he  said.  He  was  not  going  to  be  hungry 
before  his  father.  "  I  suspose,"  he  went  on,  "  you 
are  not  quite  nearly  finished." 

"  Well,  you  see,  Jim  Crow,  I  want  to  catch  yon 
little  bit  of  blue  at  the  harbour  before  the  sun  goes 
off  it.  You  don't  mind,  do  you?  After  I've  got 
that,  we'll  have  a  rest  together " 

"  And  you'll  tell  me  another  snake  story?  " 

"Serpently!" 

"Why  do  you  say  serpently  for  certainly, 
Doody?" 

"  Don't  you  think  it's  rather  funny?  " 


He  Approaches  the  Oldest  Inhabitant     5 

Jim  shook  his  head. 

"  Then  I  won't  say  it  again.  Now  I  must  go 
ahead.  Do  make  a  picture  of  the  castle  till  I'm 
ready." 

"  My  water's  done,"  said  the  boy.  "  'Sides,  I 
don't  think  I'm  in  the  vein  to-day." 

Nevis  checked  a  laugh  just  in  time. 

"  I  think  I'll  go  and  look  for  puffballs  till  you're 
ready,"  the  boy  went  on,  "  and  then " 

"  No,  no ;  we'll  look  for  puffballs  together  later 
on.  They  are  too  near  the  cliff." 

"  Well,  I'll  go  and  speak  to  the  old  doody,"  said 
Jim,  indicating  Mr.  Samuel  Girdwood. 

"  Yes ;  you  may  do  that.  His  name  is  Sammy, 
and  he  says  he  is  the  oldest  person  in  this  place. 
So  you  must  be  polite.  Ask  him  if  he  remembers 
me.  I  don't  suppose  he  does,  for  it's  eight  years 
since  I  was  here  last.  But  I  remember  Sammy 
(though  I  never  heard  his  other  name)  quite 
well." 

"  I  don't  remember  him." 

"  You  weren't  here  then." 

"  Why  wasn't  I  here  then?  " 

"  You  weren't  born." 

"Why  wasn't  I  borned?" 

"  Well,  you  see,  you  were  a  treat  in  store,  Jim 
Crow." 

"What's  that?" 


Jim 


"  Well,  you  and  I  have  a  treat  in  store  just  now. 
When  mother  comes  home  from  her  long  voy- 
age " 

"  I  wish  she  was  home  now,  Doody." 

"  So  do  I,  my  son.  But  her  home-coming  is  our 
treat  in  store.  You  see?" 

Jim  nodded  gravely.  "  I  pifer  "  (prefer  J  "  treats 
out  of  the  store,  don't  you  ?  "  he  said  presently. 

"  Everybody  does ;  but  sometimes  we  have  got  to 
wait  till  the  shop  opens.  But  I  say,  old  man,  if 
we  go  on  talking  like  this,  I'll  miss  that  bit  of 
blue.  Just  give  me  five  minutes,  and  then  we'll 
have  grub." 

"  All  right,"  said  Jim  agreeably,  and  strolled  off 
in  the  direction  of  the  cottage.  His  mother  had 
been  at  some  pains  to  bring  him  up  with  a  sense 
of  respect  for  his  elders  in  whatever  walk  of  life, 
and  as  he  drew  near  the  old  man  he  gravely 
touched  the  brim  of  his  sailor  hat. 

Mr.  Girdwood,  however,  paid  no  attention  to  the 
salute. 

It  had  been  a  kind  world  to  Jim  thus  far,  and 
he  was  not  easily  abashed.  Halting  at  the  little 
rickety  gate  in  the  low  fence  which  bounded  the 
strip  of  garden,  he  said  quite  distinctly  — 

"How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Sammy?" — and  leaned 
against  the  gate. 

"  Eh  ? "    said   Mr.    Girdwood,    starting   slightly. 


He  Approaches  the  Oldest  Inhabitant     7 

But  he  immediately  recovered  himself  and  his  rigid 
pose.  Then  he  tried  to  speak  without  moving  his 
lips,  but  not  being  a  ventriloquist  the  result  was 
not  clear  to  the  boy.  "  Stand  aside,  my  lad.  Ye'll 
spile  the  pictur." 

"  What  ?  "  Remembering  his  manners,  the  boy 
added,  "  Beg  pardon,  Mr.  Sammy." 

"  Stand  aside,  stand  aside !  "  Involuntarily  the 
old  man  made  a  gesture  with  his  hand,  which  Jim 
understood. 

"  I  suspose  your  gate  is  too  old  and  rotten,"  he 
said  pleasantly,  and  moved  a  step  or  two  to  the 
right.  "  I  could  climb  over  the  fence,  if  you  like. 
I  came  to  see  you,  you  know.  Doody  remembers 
you,  but  I  don't  because  I  wasn't  borned.  So  it 
isn't  my  fault.  But  I'll  remember  you  another 
time,  Mr.  Sammy." 

"  H'm !  "  muttered  Mr.  Girdwood. 

"Couldn't  you  speak  a  little  louder,  please?" 
Jim  regarded  the  hairy,  wrinkled,  but  by  no  means 
forbidding,  countenance  with  a  friendly  gaze,  and 
wondered  if  people  lost  their  voices  when  they  grew 
very  old.  "  I  could  climb  over  quite  easily,"  he 
said.  "  I  wouldn't  spoil  your  garden.  It  seems  a 
very  nice  garden,  Mr.  Sammy." 

Mr.  Girdwood  noticed  that  the  artist  was  light- 
ing his  pipe. 

"  Who  was  tellin'  ye  my  name  was  Sammy  ?  "  he 


8  Jim 

inquired,  a  little  suspiciously  but  almost  in  his  nat- 
ural voice. 

"Doody.     Mine  is  Jim  Crow." 

"Eh?" 

"  Jim  Crow.  But  when  I  go  to  school  it  will  be 
James  Crowley  Nevis." 

"  Folk  should  stick  to  the  names  they  was  bap- 
tized wi',"  said  Mr.  Gird  wood,  who  objected  to 
"  Sammy,"  though  the  "  Mr."  prefixed  by  the  boy 
had  all  but  neutralised  the  annoyance  on  this  occa- 
sion. "  I  was  baptized  Samuel." 

"Oh,"  remarked  Jim,  looking  thoughtful. 
"  Haven't  you  got  a  middle  name,  Mr.  Sammy  Sam- 
uel?" 

"Tits,  laddie!     My  name  is  Samuel  Girdwood." 

"  But  Doody  said  it  was  Sammy." 

"  Well,  tell  him  'tis  Samuel." 

Jim  looked  a  trifle  disappointed,  but  promised  to 
inform  his  father.  "  Doody,"  he  went  on,  "  said 
you  was  the  oldest  doody  in  this  place  —  but  p'r'aps 
you  aren't." 

"The  oldest  what?" 

"  Doody  —  I  mean  man.  You  see,  when  I  was 
little  I  used  to  call  Daddy  Doody ;  and  then  I  called 
all  men  doodies,  and  I  often  still  call  Daddy  Doody. 
—  He  pifers  it." 

"  Aw,"   said    Mr.    Girdwood   doubtfully.     Sud- 


He  Approaches  the  Oldest  Inhabitant     9 

denly  he  brightened.  "  But  yer  daddy's  right  about 
me  bein'  the  oldest  man  in  Clure  Bay  —  ay,  he's 
right!  He's  a  wise  man,  yer  daddy.  An'  I'm  not 
say  in'  I  never  was  called  Sammy." 

Jim  was  gratified.  "  I  could  climb  over  quite 
easily,"  he  said. 

Mr.  Girdwood  shook  his  head.  "  Ye  would  file 
yer  fine  breeks.  I'll  let  ye  in  at  the  gate  another 
time,  but " 

"  Now !  "  said  Jim,  eagerly. 

There  was  no  response.  The  old  man  was  sitting 
as  stiffly  as  ever,  his  gaze  on  the  artist  who  had 
resumed  work. 

"Please!"  said  Jim. 

"  Away  to  yer  daddy,  my  lad,"  Mr.  Girdwood 
muttered.  "  He  would  be  vexed  if  ye  spiled  his 
pictur." 

Jim  stared.  "  How  could  I  spile  Doody's  pic- 
ture?" he  demanded  at  last. 

"  Tits,  laddie !  Can  ye  not  see  I'm  doin'  my 
best  for  to  assist  him?  If  ye  speak  to  me,  I  canna 
keep  still;  an'  if  I  dinna  keep  still,  he  canna  pent 
my  portrait.  I  —  I'll  be  gled  to  see  ye  another 
time."  For  an  instant  Mr.  Girdwood's  counte- 
nance relaxed,  but  only  to  become  more  severe  than 
ever. 

It  took  Jim  a  little  while  to  realise  the  situation. 


io  Jim 

When  he  did  so  he  blurted  out,  "  But  my  Doody 
isn't  painting  your  portrait,  Mr.  Sammy.  He's 
painting  the  castle  and  a  bit  of  blue " 

"What?" 

"  So  you  needn't  sit  still  any  more,"  said  Jim 
very  kindly.  Next  moment  he  recoiled  from  the 
fence  as  Mr.  Girdwood,  rumbling  with  wrath,  rose 
from  the  bench  and  tottered  into  the  cottage. 

A  sort  of  fascination  prevented  the  boy  from  at 
once  running  back  to  his  father,  and  ere  it  passed 
he  was  being  addressed  by  Miss  Girdwood,  who 
came  hurrying,  with  surprising  agility,  from  the 
cottage.  At  first,  Jim  took  her  to  be  an  old  witch, 
and  regarded  her  with  interest,  for  he  had  not 
been  taught  to  be  afraid  any  more  than  he  had  been 
encouraged  to  be  reckless.  But  as  she  had  no 
broomstick  he  decided  regretfully  that  she  was  only 
a  "  fun-lady."  It  should  be  mentioned,  however, 
that  he  forgot  to  touch  his  hat. 

"  Never  heed  him,"  she  said  gently,  coming  close 
to  the  fence.  "  Did  he  frighten  ye,  dearie  ?  "  As 
the  boy  did  not  look  alarmed,  she  continued,  "  I 
seen  ye  an'  heard  ye  from  the  window.  Ye  maun 
try  for  to  excuse  Samuel  for  thinkin'  yer  fayther 
was  pentin*  him.  Ye  see,  Samuel's  gettin' 
old " 

"  Why  did  he  make  fun-noises  and  run  away  ?  " 
Jim  asked. 


He  Approaches  the  Oldest  Inhabitant     n 

"Ah,  well,  ye  see,  dearie,  he  was  disappinted- 
like.  He's  been  wantin'  for  many  a  year  to  get 
hissel'  pented  in  a  fine  pictur,  an'  when  he  heard 
yer  fayther  was  comin'  to  the  Bay,  nothin'  would 
please  him  but  to  get  the  house  pented  an'  white- 
washed, so  as  yer  fayther  would  notice  it.  An' 
when  he  seen  you  an'  yer  fayther  comin'  'cross  the 
field  this  mornin',  he  got  terrible  excited,  an'  I  had 
an  awfu'  job  to  soothe  him.  An'  when  he  seen  yer 
fayther  settin'  up  his  weasel " 

"  Easel,"  Jim  mildly  corrected.  "  A  weasel's  a 
thing  that  goes  pop,  you  know.  Sometimes  it's  a 
beast,  too." 

"  So  it  is,"  she  said  agreeably.  "  I  thought 
penters  called  it  a  weasel. —  But  we're  always  learn- 
in'. —  So,  when  he  seen  yer  fayther  settin'  it  up, 
he  thought  the  time  had  come  at  long  last,  an' 
nothin'  would  please  him  but  to  dress  hissel' — 
an'  a  terrible  business  it  was  to  get  on  his  Sabbath 
things  on  a  Wensday.  It  was  worse'n  a  funeral. 
But  mind  ye,  dearie,  I  thought  the  time  had  come 
mysel',  for  yer  fayther  was  aye  lookin'  at  the  cot- 
tage  " 

"  It  was  the  castle  Doody  was  looking  at,  and  the 
little  bit  of " 

"  Well,  well,  it  canna  be  helped.  I'll  jist  ha'  to 
tell  Samuel  he  would  ha'  been  pented  the  day,  if  it 
hadna  been  for  the  castel.  An'  ye'll  excuse  Sam- 


12  Jim 

uel,  for  he's  gettin'  old.  Now  I  best  gang  an'  get 
him  his  denner.  'Twill  maybe  help  him  to  get  past 
the  disappintment."  She  stooped  and  plucked  a 
few  carnations,  which  she  handed  shily  to  the 
boy.  "  An'  ye'll  excuse  him,  dearie,  for  he's  get- 
tin'  old." 

"  Yes,  thank  you,"  said  Jim  gravely,  "  I'll  'scuse 
him,"  and  remembered  to  touch  his  hat  to  her  re- 
treating figure. 

He  found  his  father  ready  for  lunch  and  related 
his  experience  at  the  cottage,  though  his  report  of 
Miss  Girdwood's  remarks  may  not  have  been 
altogether  exact.  "  But  I  'scused  him,"  he  said  in 
conclusion. 

"  Ah,"  said  Nevis  solemnly.  "  I'm  sorry  I  can't 
oblige  old  Sammy  by  painting  his  portrait,"  he 
added. 

"Why  can't  you?" 

"  Because,  Jim  Crow,  we  have  come  here  to  try 
to  make  some  pennies,  and  I  can  nearly  always  get 
some  pennies  for  my  pictures  of  castles  and  things, 
but  not  for  pictures  of  old  doodies." 

"  Why  can't  you  get  pennies  for  pictures  of  old 
doodies?  " 

Nevis  did  his  best  to  explain,  without  succeeding 
in  satisfying  his  son. 

"  I'll  give  you  my  savings,"  said  the  latter,  at 
last,  "  if  you  paint  him." 


He  Approaches  the  Oldest  Inhabitant     13 

"  Thanks,  old  man.  But  you  must  keep  on  sav- 
ing up,  and  the  next  time  mother  goes  on  a  voyage 
we'll  be  able  to  afford  to  go  with  her." 

"  But  mother  won't  be  going  another  voyage." 

"  Not  without  us.  And  it  would  be  fine  to  be 
able  to  take  her  a  voyage  some  day,  wouldn't  it  ?  " 

There  was  a  brief  pause. 

"  I  think  I  would  like  to  hear  the  snake  story 
now/'  said  Jim,  who  could  associate  his  mother  with 
nothing  but  home. 

Later  they  spent  an  hour  in  hunting  for  the  de- 
sired puffballs,  and  about  the  same  period  in  playing 
at  trains,  Jim  being  an  express  engine  and  his 
father  anything  from  a  passenger  to  a  signal  post. 
Then  they  rested  on  the  hillock  whilst  Nevis,  pad 
on  knees,  wrote  a  letter  to  his  wife.  He  had  not 
finished  when  Jim  suddenly  announced  his  intention 
of  making  another  call  on  Mr.  Samuel. 

"Don't  be  long,"  said  Nevis  absently.  "We 
must  be  getting  home  for  tea  soon,  you  know." 

"All  right,  Doody."  And  Jim  marched  off  to 
the  cottage  with  a  confident  look  on  his  young  coun- 
tenance. Under  his  arm  he  carried  his  sketching- 
block,  in  his  hand  his  little  paint  box. 

He  opened  the  rickety  gate  very  carefully,  and 
without  hesitation  advanced  to  the  green  door  and 
knocked. 


14 


It  was  opened  by  Miss  Girdwood,  whose  withered 
face  seemed  to  grow  a  trifle  younger  at  the  sight 
of  him. 

"  Ye've  come  back,  dearie,"  she  said  kindly. 
"  But  I  doubt  Samuel  --  " 

"  I've  come  to  paint  his  portrait,"  said  Jim  Crow, 
adding,  "  'cept  the  whiskers." 

Whereupon  Miss  Girdwood  put  her  hand  to  her 
mouth  and  quaked. 

"  Oh,  dearie,  dearie  !  "  she  gasped,  controlling 
herself.  "Will  ye  come  in  an'  see  Samuel?"  she 
asked  gently.  "  He's  broodin'  yet,  but  surely  this'll 
mak'  him  better." 

Jim  Crow  expressed  his  entire  readiness  to  enter, 
and  gave  her  his  free  hand. 

In  the  kitchen,  by  the  old-fashioned  fire-place 
which  shone  with  much  brass,  sat  Mr.  Girdwood  in 
his  shirt  sleeves.  He  was  indeed  brooding,  but  his 
expression  softened  at  the  sight  of  his  visitor.  The 
laddie  was  not  to  blame  anyway. 

"  Samuel,"  said  the  old  woman,  half  humorously, 
half  appealingly,  "  the  young  gentleman's  for  pentin' 
yer  portrait." 

"  'Cept  the  whiskers,"  put  in  Jim.  "  'Cause,  you 
see,  I  don't  know  how  to  paint  whiskers."  Then 
as  if  struck  by  a  happy  thought  —  "  P'r'aps  I'll  get 
Doody  to  paint  them  on  afterwards." 

The  frown  that  had  come  at  the  boy's  very  per- 


He  Approaches  the  Oldest  Inhabitant     15 

sonal  reference  faded  from  the  old  man's  face.  He 
emitted  a  series  of  deep  chuckles.  He  rose  and  held 
out  his  hand. 

"  Well,  well !  "  he  said ;  and  again,  "  well,  well ! 
Did  ye  ever  hear  the  like,  Elizabeth  ?  Where's  yon 
wee  poke  o'  peppermints  ?  " 

And,  after  all,  Jim  Crow  included  the  whiskers  in 
the  likeness,  and  Mr.  Samuel  made  no  objections 
whatever  to  their  being  a  sort  of  pink. 


MATTERS  OF  FACT  AND  FANCY 


IT  took  Jim  Crow  just  three  days  to  feel  quite  at 
home  with  the  oldest  inhabitant  of  Clure  Bay.  That 
Mr.  Samuel  Girdwood  did  not  within  the  same 
period  become  so  completely  at  his  ease  in  his  inter- 
course with  the  little  boy  was  doubtless  due  to  the 
natural  caution  of  old  age  and  a  lack  of  experience 
in  the  ways  of  "  genteel "  childhood.  For  one 
thing,  Samuel  was  not  accustomed  to  having  hats 
touched  to  him ;  in  fact,  he  could  not  remember  such 
an  event  happening  prior  to  Jim's  first  approach ; 
and  while  the  compliment  was  peculiarly  sweet  to 
his  soul,  he  had  frequent  qualms  of  doubt  as  to  its 
sincerity.  The  village  children,  as  he  had  long  ago 
realised,  failed  to  perceive  in  him  a  person  of  any 
special  importance  —  even  on  the  Sabbath;  their 
grins  of  greeting,  when  vouchsafed  to  him,  were  not 
invariably  respectful,  and  it  was  not  a  full  year  since 
two  youngsters,  whom  he  had  reprimanded  for 
fighting,  had  united  to  cast  stale  fish  at  him.  It 
was  fortunate  for  the  old  man's  comfort  of  mind 
that  the  adult  members  of  the  small  community  had 
always  allowed  him  to  believe  that  they  regarded 

16 


Matters  of  Fact  and  Fancy  17 

him  as  a  sort  of  oracle.  Indirectly  this  may  have 
helped  him  to  combat  his  suspicions  of  the  boy,  who, 
he  argued  secretly,  was  at  least  old-fashioned 
enough  to  be  accepted  seriously.  As  a  matter  of 
fact,  Jim  Crow  at  this  time  was  far  less  old-fash- 
ioned than  imaginative.  He  had  already  taken  Mr. 
Girdwood  beyond  his  intellectual  depth  on  several 
occasions,  though  Mr.  Girdwood  had  been  too  puz- 
zled to  be  resentful. 

They  were  sitting  on  the  bench  against  the  front 
of  the  cottage.  Miss  Girdwood  had  scrubbed  the 
bench  that  morning,  lest  the  "  young  gentleman  " 
should  take  it  into  his  head  to  pay  a  visit.  Now 
she  lingered  in  the  doorway,  watching  the  twain. 
There  had  been  a  longish  silence,  during  which 
Air.  Girdwood  had  methodically  rilled  his  pipe 
with  some  tobacco  presented  to  him  by  the  boy's 
father. 

"  'Tis  good  tobacco,"  he  remarked  at  last. 

Jim  Crow  did  not  appear  to  have  heard.  "  Mr. 
Sammy,"  he  said  abruptly,  forgetting,  as  he  fre- 
quently did,  the  more  formal  name,  "  where  are  all 
your  children  ?  " 

"Eh?" 

Jim  suddenly  remembered  that  it  was  not  always 
polite  to  ask  questions,  so  he  sought  the  informa- 
tion desired  in  a  slightly  less  direct  fashion. 


1 8  Jim 

"  I  suspose  you  have  a  great  many  children,  Mr. 
Sammy,"  he  said. 

"  Children !  "  cried  Mr.  Girdwood ;  "  bless  ycr 
heart,  lad,  I've  been  a  single  man  all  my  life." 

"  Oh,"  said  the  boy,  not  comprehending.  "  I  sus- 
pose you'll  be  having  some  later  on.  Children  are 
very  nice  to  have  —  when  they're  not  too  young." 

Mr.  Girdwood  gaped,  whilst  his  aged  sister, 
stifling  a  cackle,  fled  indoors  to  listen,  hand  over 
mouth,  at  the  open  kitchen  window. 

"  I've  got  heaps  of  children,"  the  boy  continued 
unconcernedly.  "  I've  got  two  f  roggies " 

"What?" 

"  Two  froggies  and  a  big  humpty  and  a  rabbity- 
pabbity  and  a  teddy  and  a  ephelant  and  three  tew- 
kens  and  two  mices.  One  of  the  froggies  has  lost 

his  legs Uncle  Ritchie  said  he  was  the  great 

chieftain  of  the  puddock  race  —  and  the  oldest  tew- 
ken  is  busted " 

"  What's  all  this,  what's  all  this?  "  Mr.  Girdwood 
feebly  demanded. 

"Of  course  they're  just  pretend  children,"  Jim 
frankly  admitted.  "  I  'spect  you  would  pifer  real 
ones,  Mr.  Sammy." 

"  I  never  had  any  parteec'lar  notion  o'  children," 
said  Mr.  Girdwood,  recovering  himself  and  feeling, 
no  doubt,  that  he  ought  to  say  something.  "  Chil- 
dren is  mostly  a  trouble  an'  a  sorrow  an' " 


Matters  of  Fact  and  Fancy  19 

"  Whisht,  Samuel ! "  came  a  loud  whisper  from 
the  window.  "  Never  heed  him,  dearie.  He 
doesna  mean  what  he  says." 

Jim  gave  a  friendly  smile  to  the  withered  face, 
which  was  immediately  withdrawn,  and  turned 
again  to  his  host. 

"  Hasn't  Mrs.  Sammy  got  no  children,  too  ?  "  he 
inquired. 

"  Mercy  on  us,  laddie !  She's  jist  as  single  as 
I  am!"  ' 

"What  is  single?" 

Samuel  pushed  back  his  bonnet  and  scratched  his 
head.  "Well,  ye  see,  my  sister  an*  me  never  had 
any  parteec'lar  notion  o'  gettin'  married."  He 
paused. 

"Why  hadn't  you  any  parteec'lar?" 

"  'Tis  a  hard  question,"  said  the  old  man 
evasively. 

"  I'll  ask  Mrs.  Sammy." 

"  But,  my  lad,  Elizabeth's  not  a  Missis;  she's  jist 
a  Miss." 

"  I  see,"  said  Jim  slowly,  and  registered  a  query 
for  his  father,  who  was  so  much  wiser  than  this 
old  doody.  Having  done  so,  he  somewhat  incon- 
sequently  made  the  announcement  that  Mr.  Froggie 
(the  one  with  no  legs)  had  just  got  married  to  Miss 
Tewken  (not  the  busted  one). 

"  Well,    I    never ! "    exclaimed    Mr.    Girdwood, 


2O  Jim 

rather  at  sea,  but  thankful  to  get  away  from  the 
more  personal  conversation.  "  What  did  ye  say  her 
name  was  ?  " 

"  Miss  Tewken.  She's  a  chicken,  you  know. 
She  used  to  say  '  tewk ! '  when  she  was  new." 

"  Ay,  ay.     Ye  mean  a  tewky-hen." 

"  You  can  call  her  that,  if  you  like,"  Jim  assented 
graciously.  "  I  always  call  her  Miss  Tewken." 

"So,"  said  Mr.  Girdwood  brightly,  "she'll  be 
Mrs.  Frog  now !  " 

"  No ;  she's  Miss  Tewken  always,"  was  the  firm 
reply.  "  After  Mr.  Froggie  is  married  to  Miss 
Tewken  he's  going  to  be  married  to  Miss  Mousie, 
and  then  Miss  Mousie's  going  to  be  married  to  Mr. 
Ephelant,  and  he's  going  to  be  married  to  Mr. 
Heigh-ho-Anthony  Rowley " 

"  Aw  1  but  that  canna  be,  that  canna  be ! "  Mr. 
Girdwood  protested. 

"Oh,  yes,  it  can;  it's  quite  easy,  Mr.  Sammy. 
Isn't  it,  Miss  Sammy  ?  "  he  called  to  the  old  woman, 
who  had  allowed  her  amazement  to  overcome  her 
modesty. 

"  Surely,  dearie,  surely !  "  she  replied,  withdraw- 
ing once  more  from  the  window  in  some  confusion, 
assuring  herself  that  she  had  never  "  heard  the  like 
in  all  her  days." 

"  Was    ye    never    at    the    Sabbath    schule,    ma 


Matters  of  Fact  and  Fancy  21 

lad  ? "  Mr.  Girdwood  inquired,  the  least  thing  se- 
verely. 

"  No ;  p'r'aps1  I'll  be  going  next  year.  But  Mr. 
Froggie  goes ;  so  does  Miss  Mousie ;  all  my  children 
go,  'cept  the  busted  ones.  They  like  it  fearful. 
Miss  Mousie  told  me." 

This  was  too  much  for  Mr.  Girdwood. 

"  James  Crow,"  he  said  solemnly,  "  I  could  for- 
give ye  for  tryin'  to  cod  me  —  I  could  forgive  ye 
that  —  but  when  it  comes  to  ye  tellin' " 

"  Oh,  Samuel,"  came  the  voice  from  the  window, 
"  ye  dinna  need  to  be  that  serious.  'Tis  jist  a  bit 
story  he's  tellin'  ye.  ...  An'  do  ye  teach  them 
in  the  Sabbath  schule,  dearie?" 

"  No,"  said  the  boy,  undisturbed.  "  Mr.  Monkey 
teaches  them.  There's  something  wrong  with  Mr. 
Monkey's  squeaker.  Doody  tramped  on  him  one 
day ;  he  didn't  mean  it." 

"  I  canna  let  him  mak'  a  mock "  began  Mr. 

Girdwood  to  his  quaking  sister. 

"  Can  you  tell  me,"  interrupted  Jim,  eager  with 
a  fresh  idea,  "  why  small  tewkens  —  real  tewkens, 
you  know  —  never  have  doodies  ?  " 

"  But  what  in  the  world  is  doodies  ?  "  cried  Miss 
Girdwood,  who  seemed  incapable  of  remaining  far 
from  the  window. 

Her  brother  turned  upon  her.     "  D'ye  not  ken," 


22  Jim 

he  said  quite  cockily,  "  that  a  doody's  a  daddy, 
otherwise  a  fayther?" 

"  Mr.  Sammy  didn't  know  till  I  told  him,"  said 
Jim,  without  the  slightest  intention  of  abashing  his 
ancient  friend.  "  There's  a  lot  of  small  tewkens 
where  Doody  and  I  are  staying  now,  and  they've 
got  a  mother  " —  he  really  said  "  muzzer,"  but  cor- 
rected himself — "but  no  doody.  And  where  we 
stayed  last  year  there  was  heaps  of  small  tewkens 
with  mothers,  but  no  doodies.  Where  are  the 
doodies,  Mr.  Sammy?" 

Possibly  Mr.  Girdwood  was  cheered  by  having 
the  question  put  directly  to  himself,  especially  as 
it  was  one  he  could  answer.  He  replied  almost 
graciously  — 

"  Oh,  the  doodies,  as  ye  call  them,  is  there  sure 
'nough.  Ye'll  see  them  walkin'  about  the  yard  an' 
whiles  cryin'  cockaleerie.  Eh  ?  " 

Jim  shook  his  head.  "  Those  ones  can't  be  the 
doodies,  'cause  they're  never  kind  to  the  small  tew- 
kens. They  never  give  them  things  to  eat,  nor  play 
with  them,  nor  do  anything  kind.  They  can't  be 
the  doodies,  Mr.  Sammy." 

"  They're  not  very  nice  faythers,  anyway,  dearie," 
put  in  the  old  woman  gently. 

"They're  as  the  Lord  made  them,"  her  brother 
retorted,  a  trifle  pettishly.  "  Hens  is  hens,  an'  cocks 
is  cocks." 


Matters  of  Fact  and  Fancy  23 

"  'Cept  when  they're  tewkens,"  said  Jim. 

"  Would  you  like  some  rasps,  dearie  ?  "  Miss  Gird- 
wood  inquired  hastily.  "  Well,  sit  ye  still,  an'  I'll 
bring  ye  some  nice  ones.  I'm  for  makin'  jam  the 
day." 

Presently  she  came  out  with  a  saucer  of  picked 
fruit.  Jim  held  up  his  face,  and  after  a  little  hesi- 
tation she  ventured  to  kiss  his  cheek. 

"  Ye're  over-big  for  the  kissin',  James,"  remarked 
Mr.  Gird  wood,  who  was  cheerful  one  moment  and 
depressed  the  next. 

"  I  'spect  I'll  be  too  big  next  year,"  Jim  replied, 
beginning  on  the  rasps. 

"  I  hope  ye'll  be  stoppin'  at  the  Bay  till  the  bram- 
bles is  ready,"  said  the  old  woman.  "  'Tis  a  fine 
place  for  brambles,  the  wood  up  yonder." 

"  I'm  going  to  the  wood  some  day.  I  want  to 
see  the  gnomes  and  pixies  and  elfs  and " 

"  The  what  ?  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Girdwood. 

"Didn't  you  know  it  was  a  Magic  Wood,  Mr. 
Sammy?" 

"  Never  heard  o*  sicH  • — ' — " 

Miss  Girdwood  touched  her  brother's  shoulder. 
"  Let  him  be,  let  him  be,"  she  whispered. 

"  It's  just  the  same  as  a  picture  I've  got  at 
home,"  continued  Jim ;  "  'sides  Mr.  Froggie  told 
me.  And  there's  a  kind  Magic  Doody  in  the  wood. 
He  lives  in  a  tree  with  Mr.  Skirrel  and  Mr.  Dicky- 


24  Jim 

Dick  and  Mr.  Fun-Owl,  and  he  sees  that  everything 
is  right  in  the  wood,  and  doesn't  let  the  brown 
gnomes  and  pixies  and  elfs  be  too  naughty;  and, 
perhaps,  if  you  keep  very  quiet  you  can  hear  him, 
and,  if  you've  been  very,  very  good,  you  can  see 
him.  Mr.  Sammy,  shall  you  and  I  be  very,  very 
good,  and  go  to  the  Magic  Wood  some  day?  " 

"  I  never  heard  o'  sich " 

"  Whisht,  man ! "  muttered  Miss  Girdwood. 
"  'Tis  a  pretty  notion,  dearie,"  she  said  to  Jim. 
"  But,  ye  see,  Samuel  doesna  find  the  hill  easy  for 
his  legs.  He  hasna  been  up  to  the  wood  for  near 
twinty  year." 

Jim  regarded  Mr.  Girdwood's  legs  with  interest 
for  several  seconds.  "  Couldn't  you  try?  "  he  said. 
"  You  see,  Doody  says  that  it's  only  very  young 
people  and  very  old  people  who  can  see  fairy  peo- 
ple, and  that's  why  I  wanted  you  to  come  with  me. 
Doody  would  come,  too,  but  he  would  just  paint 
while  we  was  watching.  Doody  knows  about  the 
gnomes  and  pixies  and  the  others,  but  he  can't  see 
them.  He  thinks  he  may  be  able  to  see  them  when 

mother  comes  home but  then  we  shan't  be  here. 

Couldn't  you  try,  Mr.  Sammy?  " 

"  But  I  never  "  Mr.  Girdwood  began  and 
halted. 

"  I  suspose,"  said  Jim  regretfully,  "  I'll  have  to 
get  Mr.  Peter,  the  doody  we're  staying  with,  to  go 


Matters  of  Fact  and  Fancy  25 

with  me.  He  said  he  would.  He's  not  so  old  as 
you,  but  he  might  do.  I'm  sorry  about  your  legs." 

There  was  a  short  silence,  during  which  several 
emotions  might  have  been  detected  on  the  aged 
countenance. 

"  'Tis  little  good  Peter  Fraser  would  do  ye,  my 
lad,"  said  Mr.  Girdwood  at  last.  "  The  man's  half 
blin',  an'  he  canna  see  nothin'  at  no  distance  wantin' 
his  glasses,  which  has  been  broke  for  two  year  an' 
more.  An'  'tis  all  nonsense  'bout  my  legs.  If 
'twasna  for  the  rheumatis  now  an'  then  I'd  be  as 
quick  on  my  feet  as  any  man  in  Clure  Bay." 

"  Samuel  was  a  great  dancer  in  his  time,  to  be 
sure,"  put  in  his  sister;  "  none  better  at  the  reels." 

"An'  'tis  reels  I'd  been  dancin'  yet,  if  'twasna  for 
the  rheumatis." 

"  I'd  like  awful  to  see  you  dancing,  Mr.  Samuel," 
said  Jim. 

"  Ah,  well,  ye  never  know  what's  afore  ye,  James 
Crow,"  Mr.  Girdwood  returned,  with  considerable 
briskness;  "but  if  ye're  for  the  wood,  'tis  not  me 
that  would  say  '  no,' —  so  long  as  the  rheumatis  lets 
me  alone.  Jist  you  name  a  day " 

"  Oh,  Samuel ! "  interposed  Miss  Girdwood,  who 
now  began  to  have  fears. 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  woman!  " 

"  I  don't  think  that  is  a  very  nice  way  to  speak 
to  Mrs.  Sammy,  Mr.  Sammy,"  the  boy  observed. 


26  Jim 

"  When  Mr.  Froggie  speaks  like  that  to  Miss 
Mousie,  he  gets  beans.  That  was  how  he  lost  his 
legs.  But  you  didn't  mean  to  be  cross,  did  you  ?  " 

"  Na,  na,  dearie ;  he  didna  mean  it,  an'  besides, 
I'm  used  to  it.  But  if  he  gangs  to  the  wood  wi' 
ye,  ye'll  not  let  him  sit  down  on  the  wet  places  ?  " 

"  I  'spect  Mr.  Magic  Doody  will  look  after  that," 
said  Jim  reassuringly.  "  Shall  we  go  to-morrow, 
Mr.  Sammy?"  He  laid  a  hand  on  the  old  man's 
arm. 

"  Ay,  ay,"  cried  the  old  man  recklessly ;  "  we'll 
gang  to-morrow." 

"  And  have  a  picnic !  That'll  be  splendid !  I 
'spect  we  shall  see  some  gnomes,  'cause,  you  see, 
you  are  razzer  —  ra-ther  —  like  a  gnome  yourself, 
Mr.  Sammy." 

"  Am  I  ?  "  said  Mr.  Girdwood  faintly. 

"  An'  'tis  reels  I'd  be  dancin'  yet,  if  'twasna  one, 
and  I'll  be  Puck.  I  wish  you  could  be  a  fairy  queen 
—  but  never  mind.  And  I'll  bring  Mr.  Froggie 
and  Miss  Mousie  and  Miss  Tewken.  What  fun 
we'll  have!" 

Mr.  Girdwood  moved  uneasily.  '  'Tis  a  queerish 
sort  o'  play,"  he  murmured.  "  Yer  fayther'll  be 
comin'  wi'  us,  I  hope." 

"  Oh,  yes,  Doody  will  come." 

"  I  meant  for  to  say  yer  doody." 


Matters  of  Fact  and  Fancy  27 

The  pause  that  followed  was  broken  by  the  old 
woman. 

"  I  hope  ye'll  not  be  gettin'  into  any  kind  o'  mis- 
chief, Samuel,"  she  said,  half  jocularly,  half  anx- 
iously. "  'Twill  be  a  great  adventure  for  ye." 

"  We  must  be  fearful  good  until  to-morrow,"  the 
boy  supplemented.  "  Do  you  like  tea  or  soup  when 
you're  at  a  picnic  ?  " 

"  Never  was  at  a  picnic.  .  .  .  Ye'll  not  be 
expectin'  me  for  to  climb  trees  an'  the  like,  will 
ye?" 

"  I  'spect  Mr.  Fun-Owl  would  love  if  you 
climbed  his  tree,  Mr.  Sammy.  He  would  say " 

"  I'm  not  for  any  fun-owls  or  fun-anything-elses, 
thank  ye,"  the  old  man  declared.  "  I'll  jist  sit  still, 
if  ye  please,  an' " 

"  Tell  stories !  Oh,  will  you  tell  me  stories,  Mr. 
Sammy?  " 

"  I  might  do  that,  James  Crow,"  Mr.  Girdwood 
returned,  obviously  relieved.  "  I've  seen  some 
queer  things  in  my  time." 

"  Samuel  was  at  sea  in  his  young  days,"  put  in 
Miss  Girdwood. 

"  Tell  me  a  story  now  —  please !  —  one  about  a 
boat  bursting  its  boiler !  "  cried  the  boy. 

"  The  boats  I  was  on  had  nae  bilers.  But  I  could 
tell  ye  about Aw,  there's  yer  fayther  —  I 


28  Jim 

meant  for  to  say  yer  doody  —  wavin'  on  ye.  I'll 
see  what  I  can  mind  to  tell  ye  the  morn " 

"In  the  Magic  Wood!" 

"  But,  laddie,  there's  nae "  Mr.  Girdwood 

stopped  short  at  a  nudge  from  his  sister.  Then, 
"  Well,  well,"  he  said  reluctantly,  "  in  the  Magic 
Wood,  as  ye  call  it," 

"  Oh,  you're  awful  kind !  "  exclaimed  Jim,  ready 
to  hug  him.  "  I  never  thought  you  could  tell 
stories,  Mr.  Sammy.  And  we'll  come  for  you  to- 
morrow morning,  and  you'll  be  all  ready " 

"If  the  rheumatis Well,  well,  I'll  be 

ready." 

Jim  got  up  radiant.  "  I  think  I'll  give  you  Miss 
Busted  Tewken,"  he  said  generously.  "  I'll  bring 
her  to  the  Magic  Wood  to-morrow.  And  oh!  I 
nearly  forgot  to  tell  you  —  Doody  is  going  to  paint 
your  portrait  some  day  soon.  He  promised  me  last 
night,  'cause  I  wanted  him  to  do  it.  I  'spect  you'll 
be  very  proud  of  it." 

Mr.  Girdwood's  gratification  of  countenance  is 
not  to  be  described,  but  he  seized  the  boy's  hand 
and  said  brokenly,  "James,  'tis  a  good  lad  ye  are, 
to  be  sure." 

"  And  I'll  ask  him  to  paint  Mrs.  Sammy,  too." 

"  Na,  na!     She  would  spile  the  pictur!  " 

"  Dinna  fash  yersel',  Samuel,"  she  said  good- 
humouredly.  "  Thank  ye,  dearie,  for  thinkin'  o' 


Matters  of  Fact  and  Fancy  29 

me,  but  I've  nae  notion  o'  bein'  pented  —  unless  ye 
was  for  pentin'  me  yerselV 

Jim  gave  her  a  critical  glance  as  she  took  the 
empty  saucer  from  him.  "  I  think  I  could  make  a 
good  job  of  you,"  he  said  at  last,  "  if  I  was  putting 
the  brush  in  my  mouth  lots.  I  think  I  could  paint 
you  for  the  rasps,  too,"  he  added,  with  that  vague 
movement  that  made  women  want  to  kiss  him. 
"  They  was  simply  scrumptious." 

"  The  darlin' !  "  she  said  under  her  breath.  "  Ah, 
well,  dearie,  ye  maun  run  to  yer  doddy- " 

"  Doody,"  said  Jim. 

"  My !  but  ye're  the  stupid  woman ! "  said  Mr. 
Girdwood,  who  was  still  smiling  at  the  prospect  of 
having  his  portrait  painted. 

"  Good-bye,  and  thank  you  so  much  for  a  very 
pleasant  time,"  said  Jim,  quoting  from  his  mother. 

He  was  half  way  to  his  father  when  a  thought 
seemed  to  strike  him  and  caused  him  to  retrace  his 
steps. 

"  Do  you  know/'  he  said,  halting  at  the  fence, 
"  do  you  know  what  I  would  do  if  I  was  a  small 
tewken  without  any  doody?  I  would  make  a  nice 
nest,  and  I  would  lay  a  beautiful  big  blue  egg  with 
brown  spots,  and  I  would  hatch  it,  and  then  I'd  have 
a  doody  of  my  very  own." 

He  touched  his  hat,  turned,  and  walked  sedately 
away. 


"  BUT  'tisna  right  to  let  the  lad  believe  sich  stuff 
an'  nonsense,"  said  Mr.  Girdwood,  looking  out  of 
the  window  for  the  twentieth  time.  "  If  I  was  his 
fayther " 

"  Put  that  in  yer  pouch,  an'  dinna  forget  ye've 
got  it,"  his  sister  interrupted,  handing  him  a  large 
red  handkerchief.  "  Ye  believed  plenty  stuff  an' 
nonsense  yersel',  Samuel,  when  ye  was  his  age." 

"I  didna!" 

"  Ye  did !  Ye  believed  there  was  a  bogle  in  the 
Smugglers'  Cave;  ye  believed  the  story  about  the 
Three  Bears;  ye  believed  that  babies  growed  in 
cabbages;  ye " 


"I  —  I  never  believed  it  was  a  magic  wood 


"  Ye  would  ha'  believed  that,  too,  if  I  had  telled 
ye.  So  dinna  gang  an'  try  for  to  spile  the  young 
gentleman's  pretty  bit  notions.  There's  plenty  wise 
folk  in  the  world.  An'  if  he  says  he  sees  a  tome 
or  a  pelf,  or  whatever  he  calls  his  fairies,  ye've  fist 
got  to  say  ye  see  it  too!  Mind  that! " 

Mr.  Girdwood  emitted  an  impatient  exclamation, 
30 


A  First  Venture  in  Fiction  31 

"  Woman ! "  he  cried,  "  d'ye  think  I've  nae  con- 
science ?  " 

"  Aw,  never  heed  yer  conscience."  Miss  Gird- 
wood  took  a  peep  from  the  window.  "  I  see  them 
comin'  now.  Did  ye  brush  yer  bunnet  ?  " 

"  But  'tisna  right,  I  tell  ye.  Tis  agin  the  Scrip- 
tures an' — an'  everything.  Truth's  truth,  an'  lies 
is  lies." 

"  Sure,"  Miss  Girdwood  placidly  assented.  "  An' 
fairy  tales  is  true,  if  ye  believe  them.  I'm  thinkin' 
Moses  an'  Abraham  an'  the  Twelve  Apostles  and  all 
the  rest  o'  them  had  their  pretty  notions  when  they 
was  young " 

"  'Tisna  the  way  to  speak  o'  the  saints,  Eliza- 
beth!" 

"  They  wasna  saints ;  they  was  children ;  an'  I 
hope  they  was  children  as  long  as  the  Lord  meant 
them  to  be,  an'  not  jist  as  long  as  some  stupid  old 
wise  man  thought  they  ought  to  be.  An'  as  for  yer 
conscience,  Samuel,  jist  you  keep  yer  thumb  on  it, 
or  ye'll  be  sorry  after.  An'  if  he  asks  ye  to  tell  a 
story,  ye  needna  be  parteec'lar  about  it  bein'  the 
exac'  truth,  because  the  last  true  story  I  heard  ye 
tell  wasna  worth  the  hearin'.  Ye  could  tell  far  bet- 
ter stories  o'  yer  adventures  when  ye  was  thirty  year 
younger,  for  then  ye  wasna  feart  to  —  to  imagine 
a  bit.  But  dinna  tell  him  anything  fearsome, 
mind!" 


32  Jim 

"  When  did  I  ever  tell  a  story  that  wasna  true?  " 
he  demanded,  with  a  glance  at  the  field  which  Jim 
and  his  father  were  crossing. 

Miss  Girdwood  patted  his  arm.  "If  yer  con- 
science canna  answer  that,  Samuel,"  she  said, 
smiling,  "  ye  best  give  it  a  rest  the  day." 

But  Mr.  Girdwood  was  not  to  be  thus  pacified. 

"  If  ye  think  I'm  goin'  to  encourage  James  Crow 
wi'  his  stuff  an'  nonsense "  he  began. 

Miss  Girdwood  held  up  her  hand.  "  Samuel," 
she  said  solemnly,  "  he's  a  little  one,  an'  ye're  not 
goin'  to  offend  him.  An'  what's  more,  I'll  not  let 
ye."  She  paused  a  moment  and  continued :  "  He 
thinks  ye're  the  oldest  inhabitant  o'  Clure  Bay. 
I've  never  betrayed  ye  yet,  but " 


Mr.  Girdwood's  face  fell.     "  Ye  wouldna 


His  sister  turned  away  hers.  "If  ye  offend  the 
laddie,"  she  said  in  a  low,  unsteady  voice,  "  ye'll  jist 
be  the  second  oldest."  To  herself  she  added,  "  God 
forgimme,"  and  went  to  the  open  door. 

"  Elizabeth !  "     The  cry  was  almost  plaintive. 

"  I  hear  ye,"  she  replied,  restraining  her  old,  un- 
withered  heart. 

"  Elizabeth,  ye  didna  mean  it." 

"  Ay,  Samuel,  I  meant  it.  But  " —  her  voice  sof- 
tened in  spite  of  her  — "  but,  Samuel,  I  ken  ye  would 
never  drive  me  that  far.  You  wouldna  offend  the 
laddie.  For  ye  ken,  Samuel,  we're  a  long  time  old, 


A  First  Venture  in  Fiction  33 

but  we're  an  awfu'  wee  short  time  young.  There, 
man!  we'll  not  say  another  word.  Tidy  yer  hair, 
an'  come  an'  meet  James  an'  his  doddy." 

"  His  doody,  ye  mean."  The  correction  came 
quite  naturally  from  Mr.  Girdwood.  Then  he  went 
to  the  mirror  over  the  sink,  smoothed  his  shaggy 
hair,  groaned,  sighed,  and  joined  his  sister.  "  Is 
the  rasps  ready  for  him  in  the  parlour  ?  "  he  in- 
quired. 

"  Ay,  ay,"  she  assured  him,  and  went  down  to 
open  the  gate. 

They  had  decided  the  previous  evening  that  Jim 
should  have  a  dish  of  rasps  before  starting  for  the 
wood,  and  Miss  Girdwood  had  been  busy  cleaning 
the  already  spotless  parlour  since  somewhere  about 
six  that  morning.  Her  best  cloth  was  on  the  table ; 
her  best  dishes  were  on  the  cloth;  her  best  flowers 
decorated  the  apartment.  No  doubt  Mr.  Nevis  no- 
ticed and  appreciated  these  things ;  but  his  son,  from 
the  moment  of  his  entrance,  was  held  by  a  very  dif- 
ferent object. 

"  Fun-owl !  "  he  exclaimed  excitedly.  And,  sure 
enough,  on  a  corner  of  the  mantelpiece  sat  a  shabby 
stuffed  owl.  It  was  some  time  ere  he  could  be  per- 
suaded to  look  at  the  little  feast  prepared  in  his 
honour;  it  was  not  until  he  had  been  permitted  to 
hold  the  owl  in  his  arms  and  stroke  its  poor  feathers 
that  he  consented  to  take  the  seat  waiting  for  him. 


34 


The  host  and  hostess,  however,  were  much  gratified 
by  his  admiration  of  their  possession,  which,  to  tell 
the  truth,  they  had  come  to  cherish  rather  absurdly. 

"  'Tis  but  an  ornar'  owl,"  said  Miss  Girdwood. 

"  He  says  'tis  a  fun-owl,"  whispered  her  brother. 

"An*  so  'tis,"  she  agreed  willingly. 

"  Jini  has  his  own  names  for  things,"  remarked 
Nevis,  returning  it  to  the  mantelpiece,  followed  by 
the  longing  glances  of  his  son. 

"  An'  very  good  names,  to  be  sure,  though  my 
sister  can  never  be  mindin'  them,"  said  Mr.  Gird- 
wood  somewhat  loftily. 

"Where  did  you  get  the  fun-owl?"  the  boy  in- 
quired, looking  from  one  to  the  other. 

Miss  Girdwood  was  about  to  explain  that  she  had 
purchased  it  at  a  sale,  for  sixpence,  many  years 
ago,  but  her  brother  was  before  her. 

"I  —  I  shot  it  in  Africa,"  he  said,  and  Miss  Gird- 
wood put  her  hand  to  her  mouth  just  in  time. 

"  Why  did  you  shoot  it?  "  asked  Jim. 

Mr.  Girdwood  glanced  helplessly  at  his  sister. 
"  'Tis  a  longish  story,  James  Crow,"  he  murmured. 
"  See  an'  eat  plenty  rasps." 

"  He  didna  mean  for  to  shoot  it,  dearie,"  said 
Miss  Girdwood,  with  the  best  intentions  in  the 
world. 

"  I  did  !  In  my  youth  I  was  a  crack  shot,"  re- 
torted the  old  man.  "  I  shot  it  —  I  shot  it  because 


A  First  Venture  in  Fiction  35 

we  was  shipwrecked  mariners  requirin'  food.  We 
was  starvin'.  Ye  see  ?  " 

"  I  see,"  said  Jim.  "  But  how  could  you  have 
eaten  the  owl  when  it's  there  ?  " 

Mr.  Girdwood  wriggled,  and  was  about  to  con- 
fess feebly  that  he  must  have  been  thinking  of  an- 
other owl,  when  a  straw  thrown  by  Nevis  fell  within 
his  grasp. 

"  Perhaps,"  said  the  artist,  "  a  ship  hove  in  sight 
just  as  they  were  going  to  cook  the  owl." 

"  Ye' re  right,  sir,  ye're  right,"  the  old  man  cried, 
with  a  gasp  of  relief.  "  'Tis  what  happened  ex- 
ac'ly.  I  mind  it  fine  now.  An'  so  we  didna  need 
to  eat  the  owl  —  and  there  it  is  to  prove  it !  " 

Curiously  enough,  there  was  no  applause  from 
Miss  Girdwood. 

"  But  you  wouldn't  have  shot  it  if  it  had  been 
Mr.  Fun-Owl  in  the  Magic  Wood  ? "  said  Jim. 
"Would  you?" 

"  Certinly  not,  James  Crow,  certinly  not !  I 
would  ha'  give  it  something  to  eat,  poor  beast." 

"  How "  began  Jim. 

But,  fortunately  for  the  Girdwoods,  Nevis  at  that 
moment  started  to  ask  the  old  man  when  he  would 
give  a  sitting  for  his  portrait,  and  as  Jim  was 
greatly  interested  in  this  matter  the  other  was  for- 
gotten for  the  time  being.  Later,  it  is  true,  the 
boy  desired  to  learn  how  Mr.  Sammy  could  have 


36  Jim 

given  an  owl  something  to  eat  when  he  had  nothing 
to  eat  himself;  but  by  that  time  Mr.  Sammy  had 
become  more  advanced  in  the  art  of  fiction. 

Miss  Girdwood  helped  her  young  guest  to  more 
raspberries,  sugar  and  cream. 

"  An'  how,"  she  gently  inquired,  "  is  all  the  wee 
tuckens  gettin'  on  that  had  nae  doddy  ?  —  I  should 
ha'  said  doody." 

"  Tits,  woman !  "  cried  her  brother ;  "  'tisna 
tuckens,  'tis  tewkens" 

"  So  'tis,  so  'tis,"  she  admitted  good-humouredly. 
She  turned  to  Nevis.  "  Ye'll  excuse  me,  sir,  for 
callin'  ye  his  doddy  ?  I'm  not  extra  quick  at  learn- 
in'  new  words." 

"  I  have  the  same  difficulty,"  Nevis  returned 
pleasantly.  "  Your  brother,"  he  went  on,  "  has 
promised  me  a  sitting  next  Monday,  weather  per- 
mitting. I  wonder  if  you  would  care  to  give 
me " 

"  Na,  na,"  put  in  the  old  man ;  "  she's  not  carin' 
at  all  about  her  portrait.  Twould  be  a  waste  o' 
pent,  Mr.  Nevis." 

"  Samuel's  right,"  she  said  readily.  "  Ye  see,  sir, 
'tis  different  for  him,  bein'  the  oldest  inhabitant  o' 
the  place." 

"  Tis  so,"  said  Mr.  Girdwood,  much  relieved. 
"  Excuse  the  liberty,  sir,  but  will  ye  be  likely  to  get 


A  First  Venture  in  Fiction  37 

a  hunderd  pound  for  the  pictur  ?  There  was  a  man 
cam'  here  once,  an'  he  got  fifty  for  pentin'  some 
cattle  in  a  gale  o'  win'." 

Nevis  laughed.  "  Certainly  we  ought  to  get  more 
for  the  oldest  inhabitant  than  some  cattle,  but " 

"  Well,  well,"  said  Mr.  Girdwood,  "  'tis  best  not 
to  count  yer  chickens  afore " 

"  Tewkens,"  cried  his  sister,  and  put  her  hand 
to  her  mouth  too  late. 

"  Mr.  Sammy  was  wrong,"  said  Jim  delightedly, 
"  and  Mrs.  Sammy  was  right." 

But  Mr.  Girdwood  only  chuckled.  The  sure 
knowledge  that  he  was  at  last  going  to  have  his 
portrait  painted  filled  his  soul  with  satisfaction; 
there  was  no  room  for  resentment  just  then. 

Presently  it  was  time  to  go  to  the  wood,  and  a 
start  was  made  after  Jim  had  been  allowed  to  em- 
brace the  stuffed  owl.  In  the  garden  he  confided 
(rather  loudly,  perhaps)  to  his  father  his  admira- 
tion for  the  owl  and  his  longing  to  possess  such  a 

joy. 

"  We'll  have  to  wait  till  we  can  take  a  trip  to 
Africa,  Jim  Crow,"  said  Nevis,  and  poor  Mr.  Gird- 
wood nearly  fell  from  the  doorstep,  for  in  addition 
to  his  never  having  been  in  Africa,  he  was  unaware 
whether  owls  existed  there. 

His  sister  called  him  back.     "  Mind  an'  not  loss 


38  Jim 

yer  hanky,  Samuel,"  she  whispered.  "  Ye  did  fine, 
man,  but  —  but  ye  can  put  a  wee  tate  truth  in  yer 
stories,  if  ye  like." 

Nevis,  out  of  regard  for  the  old  man,  was  about 
to  take  the  longer,  but  easier,  road  to  the  wood. 
Mr.  Girdwood,  however,  insisted  on  the  short 
cut  and,  assisted  by  his  stout  staff,  did  remarkably 
well. 

"  'Tis  not  so  bad  for  four  score  an'  five/'  he  ob- 
served complacently  when  the  hill  had  been  sur- 
mounted. "  An'  I  could  ha'  gone  quicker  but  for 
James  Crow  here." 

"  You're  a  wonderful  man,"  said  Nevis,  offering 
his  tobacco. 

"  Couldn't  you  dance  now,  Mr.  Sammy  ?  "  Jim 
inquired.  "  Slow,  like  a  dancing  bear,  you  know." 

"That'll  do,  Jim,"  said  Nevis,  with  a  hint  of 
warning  in  his  voice. 

The  boy  looked  a  little  hurt.  "  Mrs.  Sammy  said 
he  could  dance,"  he  explained. 

"  'Tis  true,"  said  the  old  man.  "  Why,  I  oncet 
got  a  medal  for  the  dancin'.  But  the  rheuma- 
tis "  He  proceeded  to  fill  his  pipe. 

"  I've  brought  Miss  Busted  Tewken  to  give  to 
you,"  said  Jim  softly.  "  She's  in  the  bastek  with 
Mr.  Froggie  and  Miss  Mousie  and  the  lunch." 

"  'Tis  a  good  lad  ye  are,  for  sure,  James  Crow," 
Mr.  Girdwood  returned,  patting  the  young  shoulder, 


A  First  Venture  in  Fiction  39 

"but "  He  broke  off  suddenly,  remembering 

his  sister.  Then  — "  An'  I've  had  a  cravirf^  for  a 
busted  tewken  all  my  life,  my  lad." 

"  I  think  you  might  have  given  Mr.  Girdwood  a 
hale  and  hearty  tewken,"  Nevis  observed. 

"  But  he  pifers  a  busted  one,  Doody.  Don't  you, 
Mr.  Sammy?" 

"  Surely ! "  replied  Samuel,  now  fairly  on  the 
downward  path.  He  lit  his  pipe  and,  puffing  smoke 
and  satisfaction,  marched  towards  the  wood,  which 
was  now  not  a  furlong  distant. 

"  I  hope  we  see  the  gnomes  and  pixies  and  elfs 
and  Mr.  Fun-Owl,"  said  Jim  to  his  ancient  friend. 

Mr.  Girdwood  refrained  from  saying  that  owls 
were  very  seldom  visible  in  the  daytime.  "  'Tis 
not  unlikely,"  he  said. 

"  And  Mr.  Magic  Doody !  " 

"  I  wouldna  wonder,  lad.  An*  I — 'I  hope  ye'll 
p'int  them  all  out  to  me." 

"Of  course,  Mr.  Sammy.  I  'spect  you'll  like 
them.  Mr.  Froggie  and  Miss  Mousie  are  so  ex- 
cited. Humpty  and  Teddy  wanted  to  come,  too, 
but  there  wasn't  room  in  the  bastek." 

"  I  hope,"  said  Nevis  very  solemnly,  "  I  sincerely 
hope,  Jim  Crow,  that  your  friends  in  the  bastek 
haven't  eaten  up  all  the  lunch." 

"  I  hope  not,"  returned  the  boy,  as  though  he 
were  full  of  doubts. 


4O  Jim 

This  make-believe  business  was  trying  on  Mr. 
Girdwood,  but  he  made  an  effort  to  do  his  share. 
Nevis  had  fallen  behind  to  light  his  pipe. 

"Did  ye  ever  see  a  hedgehog?"  the  old  man 
whispered. 

Jim  shook  his  head. 

"Well,  when  I  was  in  —  in  Africa,  a  hedgehog 
oncet  ett  my  denner." 

"  Was  that  why  you  had  to  shoot  the  poor  fun- 
owl?" 

"  The  very  reason,  laddie,  the  very  reason !  "  Mr. 
Girdwood  cried  eagerly. 

"  What  was  you  having  for  dinner?  " 

",  .  .  Sassiges  an' —  an'  turmits.  The  hedge- 
hog got  them  when  my  back  was  turned." 

"  Did  it  make  a  noise?  " 

"Na,  na." 

Jim  looked  disappointed. 

"Well,  maybe  it  made  a  kind  o'  a  roarin'- 
squeakin'  noise,"  Mr.  Girdwood  said  hurriedly. 

"  Was  your  dinner  in  a  bastek,  Mr.  Sammy?  " 

".     .     .     Not  exac'ly,  James  Crow,  not  exac'ly." 

"  What  was  it  in,  Mr.  Sammy  ?  " 

"A  —  a  bit  o'  newspaper,  maybe." 

After  a  pause — "What  did  you  do  to  Mr. 
Hedgehog? " 

"I  —  I  —  I  cuffed  his  cars,  James.  He  —  he 
deserved  it." 


A  First  Venture  in  Fiction  41 

Just  then  Nevis  rejoined  them. 

"  Doody,  what's  a  hedgehog  like  ?  " 

"A  hedgehog?" 

Mr.  Girdwood  felt  like  making  for  home  as  fast 
as  his  old  legs  would  carry  him.  But  at  the  mo- 
ment, when  disgraceful  exposure  seemed  inevitable, 
the  whole  subject  was  abruptly  changed  by  the  boy 
himself. 

'"Sh!"  said  Jim,  coming  to  a  sudden  halt,  and 
pointing.  "  I  do  believe  I  see  a  fairy !  " 

The  men  stopped  short.  At  the  edge  of  the 
wood,  half  hidden  by  a  furze  bush,  seated  on  the 
stump  of  a  tree,  was  a  small  figure  in  pink. 

"  No,"  said  Jim,  in  deep  disappointment,  "  it's 
only  a  little  girl." 

They  went  on,  and  presently  Jim  took  his 
father's  hand  and  whispered,  "  Doody,  she's  cry- 
ing." 

It  was  true.  The  little  girl,  at  whose  feet  lay  a 
little  bundle,  was  hugging  a  doll  and  sobbing  bit- 
terly. 

"  Mr.  Sammy,"  said  Jim,  "  would  you  mind  very 
much  if  I  gave  her  Miss  Busted  Tewken?  " 

Mr.  Girdwood  declared  that  he  didn't  mind;  yet 
somehow  he  did  mind. 

"  Please  give  me  Miss  Busted  Tewken,  Doody," 
said  the  boy. 

With  some  difficulty  Nevis  extracted  the  lump 


42  Jim 

of  yellow  fluff  from  the  basket.  "  Pity  you  haven't 
one  of  your  others,  Jim,"  he  remarked. 

Jim  turned  to  the  old  man.  "  I'll  try  to  give  you 
another  some  day,  Mr.  Sammy,"  he  said,  with  an 
effort,  for  he  loved  his  "  children  "  dearly. 

Then  they  went  forward  to  the  little  girl. 


IN    THE    MAGIC   WOOD 


THEIR  voices  silenced,  their  steps  almost  sound- 
less on  the  turf,  they  were  quite  close  to  the  little 
girl  ere  she  became  aware  of  their  presence.  Then 
she  started  and  looked  up  in  a  scared  fashion, 
stared  for  a  moment  or  two,  and  fell  again  to  weep- 
ing upon  her  doll. 

Jim  laid  the  fluffy  thing  on  her  lap,  whilst  Nevis 
gently  inquired  whether  she  had  lost  her  way. 
Whereupon  she  sobbed  more  violently  than  ever. 

"  It's  for  you,"  said  Jim,  endeavouring  to  direct 
her  attention  to  his  offering.  "You  can  keep  it." 

But  there  was  no  response. 

Jim  turned  to  his  father.  "  P'r'aps  she's  got  a 
pain,  Doody." 

"  I'm  afraid  there's  a  pain  of  some  kind  some- 
where," murmured  Nevis.  "  Come,  my  dear,"  he 
said  to  the  child,  "  won't  you  tell  us  what  is  the 
matter?" 

Mr.  Girdwood  took  a  step  nearer.  "  'Tis  the 
lassie  that  came  yesterday  to  Miss  Mingay  that  has 
Sea  View  for  the  summer.  We  was  hearin'  she 
was  a  niece  o'  Miss  Mingay's." 

43 


44 


Whereupon  the  little  girl's  distress  still  further 
increased,  and  for  a  moment  it  looked  as  if  Jim 
Crow  were  going  to  join  in  the  lamentation.  Pos- 
sibly the  presence  of  Mr.  Gird  wood  sustained  him, 
and  he  managed  to  say  in  a  somewhat  emotional 
voice,  "If  you  like,  I  could  lend  you  Miss  Mousie." 
'(Miss  Mousie,  by  the  way,  had  frequently  proved 
his  own  stay  and  comfort  in  time  of  trouble.) 

But  even  this  offer  was  without  result,  and  so 
Nevis,  who  was  rather  a  shy  man,  knelt  down  on 
one  knee  and  took  the  little  girl  on  the  other.  And 
at  last  he  got  her  story. 

Her  name  was  Daisy,  and  her  age  was  about 
seven.  Her  parents  being  unable  to  leave  home, 
had  sent  her  for  the  good  of  her  health  to  spend  a 
month  with  her  Aunt  Alice  at  Clure  Bay.  She 
had  never  been  from  home  until  now.  She  had 
cried  on  her  arrival,  and  Aunt  Alice  had  been  cross. 
Later  Aunt  Alice  had  been  cross  again,  so  she  had 
cried  some  more.  She  had  hated  going  to  bed 
alone,  also  waking  up  alone.  She  had  got  up  very 
early  and  put  on  her  special  silk  stockings  and  new 
shoes  and  her  best  frock  and  Sunday  hat,  and  she 
had  made  a  bundle  of  a  few  things  in  a  towel,  and 
she  had  taken  her  dolly;  and  then  she  had  crept 
from  the  house  by  the  back  garden  and  set  out  to 
find  the  railway  station.  But  she  had  not  found 
the  station,  and  had  lost  her  way,  and  things  had 


In  the  Magic  Wood  45 

kept  falling  out  of  her  bundle,  and  a  cow  had 
frightened  her,  and  her  dolly  had  fallen  in  a  muddy 
ditch,  and  she  had  got  hungrier  and  hungrier  and 
hungrier.  .  .  . 

"  I  guess  we'd  better  have  lunch  at  once,"  said 
Nevis,  who  could  be  practical  as  well  as  artistic, 
"  and  then  I'll  take  Daisy  home  to  her  aunt." 

At  the  mention  of  lunch  Miss  Daisy  brightened; 
at  the  mention  of  her  aunt  she  wailed  anew. 

"  Well,  we'll  have  lunch,  and  then  we'll  see  what 
we'll  do."  Nevis  gently  set  her  back  on  the  tree 
stump. 

"  I  'spect  she  pifers  to  stay  in  the  Magic  Wood 
with  us,"  said  Jim.  "  She  could  be  the  Fairy 
Queen,  you  know." 

At  this  the  little  girl  pricked  up  her  ears  and 
showed  one  eye  and  a  bit  of  tear-stained  cheek. 

"If  her  face  was  washed,  she  would  be  rather 
like  a  fairy." 

The  eye  blinked,  and  a  small  muffled  voice  said, 
"I  —  I've  nothing  to  wash  it  with." 

Nevis,  however,  was  already  dipping  a  handker- 
chief in  a  streamlet  that  ran  close  by,  and  a  minute 
later  the  stains  were  removed.  Then  while  he  set 
about  unpacking  the  basket,  the  little  boy  looked  at 
the  little  girl,  and  the  little  girl  looked  at  the  little 
boy,  and  Mr.  Girdwood  regarded  both  with  a  genial 
smile. 


46  Jim 

"  That's  Mr.  Sammy,"  said  Jim  presently. 
"  He's  the  oldest  doody  in  this  place,  and  after- 
wards he's  going  to  play  at  being  King  of  the 
Gnomes." 

Mr.  Girdwood's  smile  went  out. 

"  Aren't  you  ?  "  said  Jim. 

"Will  I  need  to  climb  trees  an'  so  on?"  Mr. 
Girdwood  faltered. 

"  Not  unless  you  want  to.  You  see,  if  you're 
King,  you  can  do  anything  you  like  —  nearly  any- 
thing." 

Mr.    Girdwood   gave   a   grunt   of   relief.     "If 

'twasna  for  the  rheumatis "     He  proceeded  to 

relight  his  pipe,  which  he  had  allowed  to  go  out. 

Jim  turned  again  to  Daisy,  and  assisted  her  in 
brushing  the  dry  mud  from  her  doll.  "  I  suspose 
she's  an  only  child,"  he  remarked. 

"  She's  grown  up  —  she's  a  lady,"  Daisy  re- 
turned, with  decreasing  diffidence.  "  Don't  you 
see,  she  has  got  a  long  dress  and  lovely  petticoats, 
and " 

"  Her  legs  are  fearful  fat.  Has  she  got  a 
squeaker  ?  " 

"  Nice  dolls  don't  have  squeakers  —  only  the 
clown  and  injun-rubber  kind.  Mine  is  a  superiorest 
French  doll.  And  her  legs  aren't  fearful  fat." 

"They're  nearly  as  fat  as  my  Auntie  Hilda's  — 
but  then  she's  fearful  fat  all  over.  But 


In  the  Magic  Wood  47 

she's  a  very  nice  doll.  Wouldn't  you  like  to  cuddle 
Miss  Busted  Tewken,  too?  Feel  her."  Jim  ap- 
plied his  gift  to  the  little  girl's  cheek. 

"  It's  nice  and  pussy,"  she  allowed. 

"  She's  awful  nice  to  sleep  with;  and  if  the  stuff- 
ing comes  out,  it's  quite  easy  to  put  it  in  again. 
You're  to  keep  her,  you  know." 

Daisy  rubbed  the  fluff  against  her  cheek  again, 
and  smiled  to  Jim.  "  I  think  you  are  a  very  nice 
little  boy,"  she  said  demurely.  "  What's  your 
name  ?  " 

"  Jim  Crow  —  but  I'm  nearly  as  big  as  you." 

"  That's  a  funny  name." 

He  was  about  to  explain,  when  his  father  called 
them  to  lunch.  Ere  the  simple  repast  was  over, 
however,  a  good  many  personal  explanations  were 
exchanged,  with  the  result  that  the  little  girl  was 
on  friendly  terms  with  every  one,  not  excepting 
Mr.  Girdwood,  who  won  her  interest  by  relating 
how  little  girls  in  Africa  had  dolls  made  only  of 
wood  and  stone,  and  without  clothes. 

Jim  was  proceeding  to  inquire  which  parts  were 
made  of  wood  and  which  of  stone,  when  Nevis 
interposed. 

"  Now,  Daisy,"  he  said,  "  I'm  sure  your  aunt 
must  be  worrying  terribly  about  you,  so  I'll  walk 
down  now  and  tell  her  you're  all  right;  and  later 
on  we'll  take  you  to  her." 


48  Jim 

At  "aunt"  Daisy's  lips  drooped;  at  "later  on" 
they  recovered.  Youth  can  face  anything  —  later 
on. 

"  Doody'll  give  her  beans,"  Jim  whispered  con- 
fidentially and  encouragingly. 

"Will  he?"  said  Daisy.  "Haricot  beans? 
What  for?" 

"You'll  look  after  the  children,  won't  you?" 
said  Nevis  to  the  old  man. 

"  The  Lord  helpin'  me,"  replied  Mr.  Girdwood 
a  trifle  louder  than  he  intended.  "  Surely,  sir.  I'll 
keep  my  eye  on  them." 

Nevis  turned  to  his  son.  "  Be  a  good  boy,  Jim," 
he  said,  not  so  much  for  convention's  as  the  old 
man's  sake,  for  Nevis  knew  that  the  phrase  had  as 
much  effect  upon  a  boy  as  "  Good-morning "  has 
upon  the  weather. 

"  All  right,  Doody."  Jim  had  not  time  to  think 
of  being  either  good  or  bad,  but  he  desired  to 
reassure  his  father  who  seemed  to  be  anxious  about 
something.  "No,  Daisy;  not  haricot  beans! 
Wait!  —  I'll  show  you."  He  produced  Mr. 
Froggie,  a  xylonite  affair  in  green  and  yellow. 
"  You  see,  Mr.  Froggie  once  had  legs,  legs  that 
waggled.  He  could  stand,  too.  But  one  day  he 
was  bad  to  Miss  Mousie,  and  I  gave  him  beans. 
Now  he  has  got  no  legs!  But  I  still  love  him. 
The  beans  hurt  me  more  than  they,  hurt  him." 


In  the  Magic  Wood  49 

After  about  fifteen  seconds  had  elapsed  Miss 
Daisy  slowly  put  the  question :  "  But  where  are 
the  beans,  Jim  Crow  ?  " 


"  Now,"  said  Jim  to  the  guardian,  "  let's  go  into 
the  Magic  Wood  and  look  for  gnomes  and  pixies 
and  elfs  and  Mr.  Fun-Owl."  And  he  led  the  way 
along  a  path  strewn  with  pine-needles. 

"What  sort  of  wood  did  you  say  it  was?"  the 
little  girl,  overtaking  him,  inquired. 

"  Magic,"  he  replied,  rather  shortly. 

It  must  be  confessed  that  Jim  was  disappointed 
in  Daisy.  He  had  explained  so  many  things,  and 
she  had  understood  so  few.  The  heart  was  willing, 
no  doubt,  but  the  imagination  was  weak. 

"  Where's  the  magic  ?  "  she  asked,  gazing  about 
her. 

"  I  don't  think,"  said  Jim  slowly,  "  I'll  ever  get 
married  to  you." 

"Oh!" 

"  I  think  I'd  rather  get  married  to  Mrs.  Sammy." 

Daisy's  mouth  twitched  ominously. 

41  Well,"  he  said,  relenting,  "  I'll  get  married  to 
you,  too,  if  you  like." 

Mr.  Girdwood,  who  was  toddling  close  behind, 
found  it  hard  to  hold  his  peace. 

"  But,"  objected  Daisy,  drying  one  eye  with  her 


50  Jim 

doll  and  the  other  with  Miss  Busted  Tewken,  "  you 
couldn't  get  married  to  two  ladies  at  once." 

"  Not  at  once,"  he  admitted.  "  I'd  have  to  have 
a  wedding  for  each.  That  would  be  two  cakes." 

"  But  I'd  only  get  one,"  said  Daisy,  who  was  not 
quite  so  dense  regarding  practical  matters. 

Mr.  Girdwood  interposed  here.  "  I'm  thinkin' 
we  best  not  go  any  furder,  James,"  he  said  mildly, 
"  for  fear  we  get  wandered.  Here's  a  nice  place 
for  us  to  sit  down  on." 

"  I  don't  think  it's  dry  enough  for  your  legs. 
'Sides,  we  haven't  gone  far  enough  to  see  the 
gnomes.  I  think  I  see  the  tree  where  Mr.  Magic 
Doody  and  Mr.  Fun-Owl  live " 

"Who?"  asked  Daisy. 

"  I've  told  you  already.  Come  on ! "  And  the 
boy  hastened  forward. 

Daisy  was  left  with  the  old  man.  "  Please,"  she 
said ;  "  is  it  true  about  those  things  in  the  wood  ? 
Is  it  truly  a  Magic  Wood  ?  " 

Mr.  Girdwood  removed  his  pipe  from  his  lips 
and  coughed. 

"  'Tis  like  as  not,"  he  said,  at  last,  with  diffi- 
culty. "  'Tis  many  years  since  I  was  here  before." 

"  Were  you  ever  in  a  Magic  Wood  ?  Did  you 
ever  see  gnomes  and  things  ?  " 

Mr.  Girdwood  hesitated. 

"Did  you?" 


In  the  Magic  Wood  51 

"I  —  I  seen  some  queer  things,  when  —  when  I 
was  in  Africa " 

He  was  happily  saved  from  further  fictions  just 
then  by  a  hail  from  the  boy. 

"  Here's  the  very  place,  Mr.  Sammy.  Come  on, 
Daisy."  Jim  was  standing  beside  the  trunk  of  a 
fallen  tree.  "  We  can  hide  behind  it,"  he  explained, 
"  and  watch  for  them.  Let's  kneel  and  keep  fear- 
ful quiet." 

"Could  I  not  get  sittin',  James?"  said  the  old 
man,  after  a  painful  failure  to  adopt  the  posture 
suggested.  Eventually  he  was  permitted  to  occupy 
a  very  knobby  piece  of  root,  which  Jim  named  the 
Throne  of  the  King  of  the  Gnomes.  He  was  given 
Mr.  Froggie  and  Miss  Mousie  to  take  care  of. 

Then  the  children  knelt  by  the  trunk,  their  heads 
just  above  it,  their  eyes  on  the  lights  and  shadows, 
the  greens  and  browns  and  yellows  of  the  wood, 
the  blues  and  whites  of  the  patches  of  sky.  A 
very  tall  pine  in  the  foreground  was  —  so  Jim 
decided  —  the  home  of  Mr.  Magic  Doody  and  Mr. 
Fun-Owl ;  but  he  did  not  speak  about  it. 

A  great  stillness  fell  upon  them.  It  lasted  for 
about  half-a-minute. 

"  Do  you  see  anything?  "  Daisy  inquired. 

"'Sh!" 

Daisy  held  her  tongue  until  the  sudden  cry  of  a 
bird  caused  her  to  give  a  jump  and  a  screech  and 


52  Jim 

let  Miss  Busted  Tewken  roll  over  the  trunk.  It 
was  some  time  ere  peace  was  restored. 

Quite  a  long  silence  ensued,  and  it  was  Jim  who 
broke  it. 

"  I  think,"  he  said  softly,  "  I'll  ask  a  blessing, 
and  see  if  that  does  any  good.  Oh,  Lord,  we 
thank  Thee  for  Thy  mercies,  and  forgive  our  sins, 
amen " 

"  That's  not  the  one  I  say,"  said  Daisy. 

"  It's  the  one  Doody  says  when  mother's  with 
us,"  he  returned.  "  Sometimes  when  she  isn't, 
too." 

"  Would  you  like  me  to  say  mine,  Jim  Crow  ?  " 

Jim  shook  his  head.  "  Let's  keep  awful  quiet." 
He  glanced  at  Air.  Girdwood,  who  was  evincing 
signs  of  drowsiness.  "  I'm  afraid  some  of  us 
haven't  been  very,  very  good  lately,  Mr.  Sammy." 

Mr.  Girdwood  looked  uncomfortable,  but  that 
may  have  been  due  in  some  measure  to  the  Throne. 
"  I  hope  ye'll  see  something  soon,"  he  said,  rousing 
himself. 

Once  more  silence. 

Daisy  feared  that  she  had  made  a  hole  in  the  knee 
of  one  of  her  fine  stockings,  but  managed  to  keep 
the  trouble  to  herself. 

"  Please  don't  kiss  your  doll  so  loud,"  said  Jim 
in  an  undertone. 


In  the  Magic  Wood  53 

Next  moment  he  was  pointing  and  whispering 
excitedly  — 

"  I  believe  I  see  a  gnome !  Yes,  yes ;  away  over 
yonder,  where  it's  very  dark.  See,  it's  moving!" 

A  cool  breeze  stole  through  the  warm  wood. 

"It  must  be  a  gnome!  —  it's  sort  of  brown!  — 
and  gnomes  are  brown — 'cept  when  they're  green. 
Mr.  Sammy,  don't  you  see  it?  Oh,  it's  away!  — 
no,  it's  back  again." 

Said  Daisy,  her  blue  eyes  very  big,  "  I  don't  see 
anything,  Jim  Crow." 

Jim  appealed  again  to  Mr.  Girdwood.  "  But  you 
can  see  it !  " 

"Me?" 

"  Oh,  you're  looking  the  wrong  way !  It's 
yonder  —  look !  —  quick !  " 

"Well,  I  don't  exac'ly.  .  .  ."  Mr.  Gird- 
wood  pulled  himself  together.  "  Surely,"  he  said, 
bravely,  "  I  can  see  it,  James  Crow." 

Jim  clapped  his  hands.  "  And  it's  brown,  isn't 
it,  Mr.  Sammy?" 

"To  be  sure!" 

"  With  a  brown  hood  on  its  head  ?  " 

"Why,  cert'inly!" 

"  And  it's  got  whiskers  like  yours,  Mr.  Sammy?  " 

"  I  —  I  won't  deny  it." 

"  Oh,  we've  seen  a  real  gnome !  "  cried  Jim. 


54 


But  Daisy  wailed,  "  I  haven't  !  I  haven't  seen 
anything  at  all  !  " 

Jim's  pointing  finger  fell.  "  Oh,  it's  gone  away," 
he  said  regretfully.  "  P'r'aps  it'll  come  back 
Daisy." 

But  it  didn't,  and  Daisy  was  disconsolate. 

"  You  should  have  let  me  ask  a  blessing,  too," 
she  complained. 

"  I  'spect  you  didn't  see  it  'cause  you're  a  girl," 
said  Jim,  not  unsympathetically.  But  he  really  felt 
that  she  must  have  been  very  bad  in  some  way 
lately.  Which  was,  perhaps,  his  best  reason  for 
putting  his  arm  round  her  neck  and  promising  to 
appeal  to  Mr.  Magic  Doody  on  her  behalf  on  an- 
other occasion.  "  And  now,"  he  went  on,  when 
she  had  been  comforted,  "  we'll  play  !  You'll  be 
Queen  of  the  Fairies  —  you  can  blow  your  nose 
with  my  hanky  first  —  and  Mr.  Sammy'll  be  King 
of  -  Oh,  you  mustn't  get  off  your  Throne,  Mr. 
Sammy." 

"  But,  if  ye  please,  James  -  " 

Happily  for  the  old  man,  Nevis  appeared  at  this 
junction,  having  pacified  a  distracted  woman  whose 
worst  sin  had  been  a  splitting  headache  on  her 
niece's  arrival  the  previous  afternoon.  She  would 
have  accompanied  Nevis  to  the  wood  to  embrace 
the  child,  had  not  the  artist  managed  to  persuade 
her  to  rest  for  an  hour  or  two. 


In  the  Magic  Wood  55 

"  Your  aunt,"  he  informed  Daisy,  who  had  almost 
forgotten  her  wanderings,  "  says  you  may  stay  a 
little  longer,  if  you  want  to,  and  then  we'll  all  go 
home  together.  She  isn't  cross,  and  she  sent  her 
love  to  you." 

Thereafter  Daisy  became  Queen  of  the  Fairies, 
and  proved  almost  as  obedient  as  did  Mr.  Gird- 
wood  in  his  role  of  King  of  the  Gnomes. 

Of  course  Nevis  had  to  be  told  of  the  real  gnome. 
"  And  Mr.  Sammy  saw  it  too,  Doody ! " 

Nevis  looked  at  the  old  man,  a  trifle  quizzingly 
perhaps. 

"  Sure,"  the  latter  murmured. 

"  And  I  'spect,"  said  Jim,  with  a  happy  thought, 
"  Daisy  would  have  seen  it,  too,  if  it  had  been  a 
pixie  or  an  elf." 

Thereafter  no  marriage  bell  could  have  gone 
merrier  than  their  play. 


That  night,  at  the  fireside,  Mr.  Girdwood  had 
an  argument  with  his  sister. 

"  'Twas  you  that  started  me,"  he  said. 

"  But  I  didna  mean  ye  to  gang  so  far  wi'  the 
stories.  I  near  drapped  when  ye  began  about 
Africa  —  you  that  never  sailed  furder'n  Dublin. 
Ye  should  draw  the  line,  Samuel,  ye  should  draw 
the  line." 


56  Jim 

Mr.  Girdwood  grunted,  then  burst  into  a  reckless 
fit  of  chuckling. 

"  I  seen  a  gnome  in  the  Magic  Wood,  the  day," 
he  said  at  last. 

"Yedidna!" 

"I  did!" 

"Oh,  Samuel!" 

"  An'  if  ye  had  been  wi'  James  Crow,  ye  would 
ha'  seen  it,  too !  In  for  a  penny,  in  for  a  pound !  " 


A    RAINY    DAY 


OFTENER  than  not  we  may  tell  a  child's  sex  from 
the  time  the  child  spends  at  the  window  on  a  rainy 
day.  Whatever  the  years  make  a  woman,  she  is 
born  domesticated;  the  little  girl  looks  out  of  the 
window  chiefly  because  something  is  happening 
outside,  not  because  she  wishes  something  would 
happen,  and  returns  contentedly  to  her  indoor 
interests.  But  however  the  years  thin  a  man's 
blood,  he  is  born  an  open  air  adventurer;  the  little 
boy  tires  of  carpet  play,  and  remains  gazing  at 
the  rain  and  grey  skies,  wearying  for  the  sun  to 
shine. 

Jim  knelt  on  a  chair  at  the  parlour  window  of  the 
cottage  wherein  his  father  had  taken  lodgings  for 
the  stay  at  Clure  Bay.  Mr.  Froggie,  Miss  Mousie 
and  the  others  sprawled  neglected  on  the  floor.  On 
the  table  lay  an  open  paint-box,  some  scattered 
brushes,  and  a  number  of  "  expression  pictures," 
as  the  boy  designated  his  more  than  usually  gaudy 
sketches;  also  a  tumbler  of  paint-muddied  water. 
On  the  haircloth  sofa  rested  several  volumes  of 
juvenile  appearance.  A  small  fire  burned  sulkily 

57 


58  Jim 

in  the  grate.  There  was  a  feeling  of  heaviness  and 
dulness  in  the  atmosphere. 

The  hour  was  three.  It  had  been  a  long  morn- 
ing; it  threatened  to  be  a  longer  afternoon.  Since 
dawn  the  rain  had  fallen  straight  and  steadily,  and 
still  the  castle  loomed  dismally  through  the  mist 
and  the  boats  in  the  harbour  appeared  ghostly  on 
the  oily  water.  And  it  was  the  day  on  which  Mr. 
Girdwood  was  to  have  sat  for  his  portrait. 

Nevis,  a  novel  on  his  knee,  drowsed  in  a  chair 
which  was  "  easy  " —  after  one  got  the  secret  of  its 
springs.  He  had  done  his  best  towards  entertain- 
ing Jim  and  Daisy  (who  had  invited  herself)  during 
the  morning,  and  possibly  his  exertions  then  (he 
had  been  anything  from  a  hippopotamus  to  a  wind- 
mill) coupled  with  an  early  dinner  were  accountable 
for  his  present  sluggishness. 

The  silence  which  had  lasted  for  some  twenty 
minutes  was  broken  by  the  boy. 

"  Doody,"  he  said  softly,  without  turning  from 
the  window. 

There  was  no  answer. 

"Doody!" 

".     .     .     Well?" 

"If  you  was  to  sail  from  here  as  far  as  you  could, 
where  would  you  come  to  ?  " 

"  America." 


A  Rainy  Day  59 

"  Oh !  .  .  .  Why  would  you  come  to  Amer- 
ica? " 

"What?" 

Jim  repeated  the  question. 

"  Because  you  would,"  said  Nevis,  the  least  thing 
irritably. 

After  a  short  pause,  "  Doody!  " 

"Well,  what  is  it?" 

"If  —  if  you  didn't  sail  as  far  as  you  could, 
where  would  you  come  to?  " 

"  Nowhere."  Nevis  let  the  novel  slip  from  his 
knee  and  kicked  it  across  the  rug. 

"  But,  Doody,"  said  Jim,  whose  desire  to  carry 
on  any  sort  of  conversation  was  just  then  very 
acute,  "  but,  Doody,  if  you  came  to  nowhere  you 
wouldn't  know  you  was  anywhere." 

Nevis  did  not  respond. 

"  How  big  is  America,  Doody  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  .  .  .  Aren't  you  going  to 
paint  some  more  pictures  ?  " 

"  The  light's  bad,"  quoted  Jim.  "  Is  America  as 
big  as " 

"  Botheration !  "  muttered  Nevis ;  "  can't  you 
play  with  something  or  other?" 

Jim  gave  a  silent  little  gulp.  "  I've  got  no  one 
to  play  with  me,"  he  said. 

"  Daisy  would  have  come  back  this  afternoon  if 


60  Jim 

you  had  asked  her.  And  she  wanted  you  to  go  to 
her  house.  Would  you  like  to  go  now?" 

"  No  —  no,  thank  you,  Doody." 

"  Well,  what  do  you  want  to  do?  " 

"  I  d-don't  know." 

With  something  between  a  grunt  and  a  groan 
Nevis  closed  his  eyes,  and  a  long  silence  followed, 
disturbed  only  by  the  occasional  squeaking  of  a 
small  wet  forefinger  on  the  pane.  But  at  last  even 
that  sound  ceased,  and  a  little  later  Jim  descended 
from  the  chair.  He  regarded  his  paints  on  the 
table,  his  toys  on  the  floor,  his  books  on  the  sofa; 
but  for  once  they  one  and  all  failed  to  appeal  to 
him. 

He  halted  in  front  of  his  drowsy  parent.  His 
lip  trembled. 

"I  —  I  don't  think  I'm  feeling  very  happy,"  he 
said  in  a  breaking  voice.  "  Talk  to  me,  Doody." 

It  was  a  gentle  stab,  but  it  went  deep  enough. 
Nevis  sat  up  yawning,  and  took  his  son  on  his 
knee. 

"What's  the  matter,  old  Crow?" 

"  I  was  feeling  so  lonely  alone,"  said  Jim,  and 
gave  way. 

"  Poor  old  Crow,  I  guess  we'll  both  be  glad 
when  mother  comes  home.  That  was  it,  wasn't 
it?" 

"If  you  hadn't  went  to  sleep " 


A  Rainy  Day  61 

"  Well,  well,  I'm  not  going  to  sleep  any  more. 
What  would  you  like  me  to  do  ?  Tell  you  a  story  ?  " 

"  No ;  just  talk." 

"  All  right.  ...  I  wonder  how  our  friend 
Sammy  is  getting  along  to-day.  I  expect  he'll  be 
rather  wild  at  not  getting  his  sitting." 

"  I  'spect  so,  too,"  said  Jim,  borrowing  his 
father's  handkerchief.  "  I  'spect  he'll  be  fearful 
grumpy  with  Mrs.  Sammy.  I  hope  he  doesn't  bite 
her  nose  off." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  think  he  would  go  quite  so  far  as 
that,  Jim  Crow." 

"  I've  heard  her  asking  him  not  to  bite  it  off, 
when  he  was  grumpy." 

"  Still,  I  don't  think  she  was  really  afraid  of 
actually  losing  her  nose." 

"  I  suspose  he  would  just  give  it  a  small  bite, 
and  leave  it  on." 

"  I  hardly  think  he  would  even  do  that." 

"  Wouldn't  he  ? "  said  Jim,  not  a  little  disap- 
pointed. 

Nevis  proceeded  to  explain  that  people  some- 
times said  things  without  exactly  meaning  them. 
"  For  instance,  you  remember  when  old  Sammy 
was  telling  us  the  story  about  the  three  lions  he 
shot  in  Africa ;  he  said  when  they  roared  he  nearly 
jumped  out  of  his  skin.  Now,  you  know,  he 
couldn't  have  jumped  out  of  his  skin  if  a  hundred 


62  Jim 

thousand  lions  had  roared  and  he  had  tried  with  all 
his  might.  D'you  see,  Jim  Crow  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  see,  Doody.  Of  course  Mr.  Sammy 
couldn't  jump  out  of  his  own  skin " 

"Well,  then " 

"  But  he  could  bite  Mrs.  Sammy's  nose  quite 
easily,  if  he  wanted  to." 

"  Let's  have  a  look  at  the  weather,"  said  Nevis. 

At  the  window  Jim,  whose  spirits  were  up  again, 
remarked  that  the  froggies  would  enjoy  this 
weather,  and  expressed  a  desire  to  give  his  own 
Mr.  Froggie  a  mud-bath  in  the  window-box. 

"  That's  a  delightful  idea,  Jim  Crow,"  Nevis  re- 
plied ;  "  but  what  do  you  say  to  our  putting  on 
our  waterproofs,  and  going  down  to  the  harbour, 
and  getting  a  boat  with  lines,  and  seeing  if  we 
can  catch  some  fish  ?  " 

The  suggestion  was  hailed  with  rapture  and  a 
request  for  immediate  departure.  Nevertheless,  it 
was  first  necessary  to  deposit  Mr.  Froggie  in  the 
window-box ;  "  'cause,  you  see,  he'll  be  enjoying 
himself,  too." 

"  Hadn't  you  better  pick  up  your  other  friends  ?  " 
said  Nevis  mildly,  indicating  the  sprawling  toys. 

"  They  pifer  being  on  the  floor,"  Jim  replied, 
making  for  the  door. 

"  All  the  same,  we  can't  leave  the  room  in  this 
state,"  Nevis  said,  going  to  work. 


A  Rainy  Day  63 

"  I  don't  think  they  mind  you  picking  them  up, 
Doody,"  Jim  observed;  "  but  they  hate  me  to  do  it 
—  they  simply  loase  (loathe)  it." 

"  You're  a  bit  of  a  humbug,  Jim  Crow,"  the 
father  remarked  good-humouredly.  "  I  don't 
know  how  you  can  make  such  a  mess  in  a  room." 

"  That's  what  mother  says  about  the  studio  at 
home,"  the  son  replied.  "  Couldn't  you  be  a  little 
quicker,  Doody  ?  " 

Within  the  next  half-hour  the  weather  gave  some 
promise  of  improving. 

Mr.  Girdwood  opened  the  cottage  door  for  the 
fiftieth  time  that  day. 

"  Ye  needna  think  they'll  be  comin'  now,"  said 
his  sister  from  the  kitchen. 

"  I  never  said  I  was  thinkin'  they  would  be 
comin'  now,"  he  retorted. 

"  Well,  can  ye  not  sit  still  instead  o'  dancin' 
about  like  a  hen  on  a  het  girdle  ?  " 

"  Clay  up !  "  was  the  rude  reply. 

It  had  been  a  bad  day  for  Mr.  Girdwood,  and 
he  had  made  it  a  worse  one  for  his  sister.  Now 
they  had  reached  the  acute  stage  of  irritability. 

"Whatever  did  it  rain  for  the  day?"  he  de- 
manded, for  somewhere  about  the  hundredth 
time. 

"  I  wouldna  wonder  if  it  was  a  judgment  on  ye 


64  Jim 

for  all  the  falsehoods  ye've  been  tellin'  lately, 
Samuel." 

"An'  who  started  me  at  the  falsehoods?" 

There  was  a  brief  pause. 

"  If  ye  had  left  out  the  Africa  falsehoods,"  said 
Miss  Girdwood.  "  What  made  ye  tell  about  lions 
and  teegers  an'  polar  bears  an'  buffoons  an' " 

"  Baboons,  ye  eediot !  " 

" —  when  ye've  never  seen  a  dangerous  beast  in 
yer  life?  What  made  ye  do  it?  " 

"  I've  seen  plenty  dangerous  beasts  in  a  men- 
agerie. 'Tis  jist  the  same  as  seein'  them  in 
Africa." 

"You  an'  yer  Africa!  You  an'  yer  bassoons! 
I  wonder  what  the  meenister " 

"  Hold  yer  tongue,  woman,  if  ye  canna  keep  yer 
temper.  I  said  baboons!  A  bassoon's  not  a  beast ; 
'tis  a  musical  instrument  —  a  kind  o'  flute.  A 
baboon's  a  kind  o'  monkey." 

"  You  an'  yer  mutes  an'  flunkeys " 

"  Tits,  woman !  Ye're  lossin'  yer  power  o' 
speech.  Clay  up,  for  any  favour!  Ye  canna  even 
say  flukes  an' "  Mr.  Girdwood  left  the  door- 
step rather  hastily. 

The  rain  had  almost  ceased.  He  strolled  round 
to  the  back  of  the  house,  growling  to  himself. 

Five  minutes  later  his  sister  joined  him.  Left 
to  herself  her  ill-temper  had  evaporated;  and  she 


A  Rainy  Day  65 

had  thought  of  Samuel's  rheumatism.  Prepared 
for  a  rebuff,  she  laid  a  hand  on  his  arm. 

"  Samuel,  will  ye  no'  get  wet  ?  " 

But  no  rebuff  came. 

"  Elizabeth,"  he  said,  and  pointed.  From  the 
harbour  mouth  a  boat  was  being  rowed  by  one 
Andrew,  a  fisherman;  in  the  stern  sat  Jim  and  his 
father. 

"  Elizabeth,  I'm  thinkin'  ye  was  right,"  he  said 
slowly.  "  Tis  a  judgment  surely."  He  turned 
abruptly  and  proceeded  indoors. 

She  followed,  and  set  about  making  the  tea.  "  I 
didna  mean  it,  Samuel,"  she  said  at  last. 

"What?" 

"  The  judgment." 

"  But  /  meant  it.  .  .  .  What's  James  Crow 
an'  his  doody  goin'  out  wi'  Andrew  for?  Can  / 
no'  pull  a  boat  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Samuel,  dearie,  ye  ha'  never  been  in  a 
boat  for  twinty  year !  " 

"  Ye  said  that  about  the  Magic  Wood  —  an'  I 
won  there  easy !  " 

"  But  yer  rheumatis " 

"They  should  ha'  come  to  me  if  they  was  for 
the  fishin'.  I  tell  ye  'tis  a  judgment.  If  I  ever 
see  James  Crow  again  I'll  confess  that  I  never  was 
furder'n  Dublin,  an'  never  shot  anything  bigger'n 
a  rabbit." 


66  Jim 

"  Oh,  but,  Samuel  — »— "  she  paused,  staring  at 
the  brown  teapot  in  her  hand.  "  But,  Samuel 
"  she  paused  again. 

"An'  I'll  tell  him  the  truth  about  the  owl  — 
that  ye  bought  it  ready  stuffed  for  a  shillin' " 

"  It  was  jist  a  sixpence,  dearie." 

Mr.  Girdwood  waved  away  the  soft  correction. 

"  An'  I'll  tell  him  that  I  never  really  seen  his 
gnome  in  the  wood " 

"Oh,  Samuel,  Samuel!" 

"An'  I'll  tell  him  — I'll  tell  him  that  ye're  three 
year  older'n  me !  "  Mr.  Girdwood  writhed  in  his  chair. 

With  a  cry  Miss  Girdwood  set  the  teapot  on  the 
hob. 

"  Na,  na,  na  —  na  —  na!  Ye  mauna  do  that, 
Samuel,  ye  mauna  do  that !  Ye  mauna  tell  him 
anything.  For  ye  see  " —  she  moved  her  hands  as 
if  actually  groping  for  solid  arguments — "ye  see, 
Samuel,  yer  stories  never  did  the  lad  any 
harm " 

"  I  ken.  "Tis  me  that's  gettin'  the  judgment. 
An'  I'll  never  get  ma  portrait  pentit  now  —  I  can 
see  that." 

"  Toots,  man !  Doesna  the  Lord  send  the  rain 
on  the  just  an'  the  unjust?" 

"  Ay ;  but  'tis  maybe  not  so  convenient  for  the 
unjust,  Elizabeth.  I  tell  ye,  I'll  never  see  ma  por- 
trait  " 


A  Rainy  Day  67 

Poor  Miss  Girdwood!  She  had  a  sore  time  of 
it  during  the  next  three  hours.  Samuel's  disap- 
pointment, his  injured  feelings,  his  jealousy,  were 
not  to  be  soothed  by  anything  she  could  say.  She 
was  at  her  wits'  end  when  a  knock  came  on  the 
door. 

Jim  entered  followed  by  his  father.  The  boy, 
glowing  from  the  sea  air,  was  in  a  high  state  of 
excitement.  He  dragged  a  big  fish  on  a  string 
across  the  kitchen  floor,  heaved  it  up,  and  planted 
it  on  the  old  man's  knees. 

"  It's  for  you,  Mr.  Sammy.  I  caught  it. 
Doody  hardly  helped  me  at  all.  Didn't  you  not, 
Doody?" 

"  Nothing  to  speak  of." 

"  Mr.  Sammy,  isn't  it  a  splendid  fish  ?  " 

"  Ay ;  'tis  a  fine  fish,"  said  Mr.  Girdwood  gloom- 
ily, and  sighed. 

"  Now,  Jim  Crow,  we  must  be  going,"  said  Nevis. 
"  I  told  you  you  could  stay  for  just  a  minute." 

"  Oh,  rest  ye  a  whiley,  sir,"  pleaded  the  old 
woman.  "  I'll  warm  him  some  milk  to  keep  him 
from  catchin'  the  cold."  She  lowered  her  voice. 
"  He  " —  with  a  nod  in  her  brother's  direction  — 
"  had  a  sad  disappointment  the  day.  Bide  a  wee 
whiley,  if  ye  please,  sir." 

Jim  had  already  made  himself  at  home  close  to 
Mr.  Girdwood.  "  It  was  the  only  fish  we  caught," 


68  Jim 

he  said,  "  and  it's  to  make  up  for  you  not  getting 
your  portrait  painted  to-day.  Andrew  says  it's  go- 
ing to  be  fine  to-morrow " 

"  Andrew  kens  nothin'  about  the  weather," 
grunted  the  old  man. 

"  Oh,  but  I  hope  it'll  be  fine,  'cause  Doody  is 
going  to  paint  you  the  first  fine  day.  Aren't  you, 
Doody?" 

"Certainly!" 

"  There  ye  see,  Samuel !  "  cried  Miss  Girdwood, 
and  put  her  hand  to  her  mouth. 

Samuel  bowed  his  head  and  appeared  to  be 
deeply  interested  in  the  fish. 

Miss  Girdwood  remarked  that  the  warm  milk 
would  soon  be  ready. 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  we'll  do  now,"  said  Jim. 
"  Mr.  Sammy,  you  tell  the  story  you  promised  to 
tell  me  about  the  big,  huge  whale  you  caught  at 
Africa!"" 

Mr.  Girdwood  wriggled,  and  the  fish  flopped  on 
the  floor,  whereat  Jim  laughed  heartily. 

"  Tell  about  the  whale,"  he  urged  presently. 

"  I  canna,  I  canna,"  protested  the  old  man. 
"  I'm  awfu'  obliged  for  the  fish,  James  Crow,  but  I 
canna  tell  about  the  whale.  Oh,  na,  na;  'tis  not  a 
story  I  can  tell." 

"  Go  on,  Samuel,  go  on ! "  said  Miss  Girdwood 
in  a  hoarse  whisper.  "  Tell  about  yer  whale !  " 


THE    FIRST    SITTING 


"  Now,  Jim  Crow,"  said  Nevis,  settling  himself 
on  his  stool,  "  if  you're  not  going  to  paint  Mr. 
Girdwood's  portrait  along  with  me,  I  think  you 
should  find  something  to  do  for  an  hour  or  so, 
because,  you  see,  Mr.  Girdwood  isn't  used  to  sit- 
ting for  his  portrait,  and  if  you  keep  running  about 
and  speaking  to  him,  he'll  be  very  uncomfortable." 

This  in  response  to  a  timid  appeal  from  the  old 
man  on  the  bench  by  the  cottage  wall. 

"  All  right,  Doody,"  said  Jim  agreeably ;  "  I 
think  I'll  just  do  a  small  sketch  of  Mr.  Froggie  till 
Daisy  comes.  I've  done  Mr.  Sammy  already,  you 
know." 

"  Very  good,"  said  Nevis. 

His  son  looked  gratified.  "  But  it  would  have 
been  better  if  he  hadn't  had  whiskers.  Which  part 
of  Mr.  Sammy  do  you. begin  with?" 

"  You  may  see  that  for  yourself  later  on,  old 
chap.  Now  let's  get  to  work."  The  artist  turned 
to  the  sitter,  who  immediately  drew  himself  up, 
assuming  a  pose  of  extreme  dignity  and  rigidity. 

"  Light  your  pipe,  Mr.  Girdwood,  and  make 
69 


70  Jim 

yourself  as  easy  as  you  like.  It's  not  as  if  you 
were  going  to  be  photographed." 

Mr.  Girdwood  fished  out  his  pipe,  looked  at  it, 
and  put  it  back.  "  I  think  I'll  not  smoke,"  he  said 
after  some  consideration ;  "  'twill  be  seemlier  want- 
in'  the  pipe.  But  if  ye've  nae  objections,  sir,  I'll 
give  my  nose  a  bit  blast." 

"  No  objections  whatever,"  said  Nevis  gravely. 

Mr,  Girdwood  produced  a  large  red  handkerchief 
and  trumpeted  loudly. 

"  Again,  Mr.  Sammy !  "  cried  Jim,  highly  de- 
lighted. "  Do  Mr.  Ephelant  again." 

"Quiet!"  said  his  father.  "Now,  just  sit  at 
your  ease,  as  if  I  were  miles  away,  Mr.  Girdwood. 
You  are  the  oldest  inhabitant,  you  know,  and  I 
want  to  show  you  enjoying  the  beautiful  summer 
day  in  your  garden.  You  understand  ?  " 

"  Ay.  ...  I  maun  try  for  to  sit  at  my  ease, 
sir."  And  the  old  man  adopted  an  attitude  of 
cramped  misery. 

"Of  course  it's  not  that  I  can't  go  on  with  the 
portrait,"  said  Nevis  patiently.  "  That's  all  right 
so  far  as  I  am  concerned.  But  I  don't  like  to  see 
you  suffering." 

"  Tisna  sufferin'  exac'ly,  sir.  Tis  liker  a  sort 
o' — -o*  agony." 

"Agony?" 

"  Well,  maybe  no'  that  either.     If  ye  would  wait 


The  First  Sitting  71 

till  I  ease  my  collar.  Ye  see,  Elizabeth  forgot 
where  she  put  the  wee  stud,  an'  we  had  to  use  a 
button  on  a  hairpin,  an'  the  hairpin's  —  ah !  that's 
better !  Now,  sir,  I'll  try  my  best  to  please  ye." 

"  Perhaps,"  said  Nevis,  "  you  would  like  me  to 
postpone  the  portrait  till  another  day " 

"  Na,  na!  I'll  sit  easy,  sir;  I'll  sit  easy,  if  it 
chokes  me." 

Jim's  request  to  be  informed  how  "  sitting  easy  " 
could  choke  anybody  was  cut  short  by  his  father, 
who  pointed  out  that  Mr.  Froggie  was  evidently 
feeling  neglected.  Whereupon  the  boy  applied  his 
brush  to  his  mouth,  thence  to  the  paint  styled 
"  emerald  green,"  and  proceeded  to  execute  a  de- 
sign of  which  any  parent  would  have  been  proud 
—  after  the  parent  had  been  told  what  it  repre- 
sented. 

For  the  next  five  minutes  or  so  all  went  calmly. 
Mr.  Girdwood's  pose  could  scarcely  have  been 
termed  "  natural,"  but  he  frequently  smirked  in  a 
way  that  suggested  a  certain  satisfaction  of  spirit. 

"  Doody,"  said  Jim  suddenly,  "  shall  you  paint 
Mr.  Sammy's  face  first,  and  put  the  whiskers  on 
afterwards?  " 

Nevis  ignored  the  question  —  which  was  unwise 
of  him,  an  experienced  parent.  Children  don't  ask 
questions  merely  for  the  fun  of  the  thing;  no  coun- 
sel for  the  prosecution  can  equal  their  persistence. 


72  Jim 

Eventually  Nevis  was  driven  to  replying  that  he 
painted  the  whiskers  first  and  the  face  afterwards. 
Jim  accepted  the  answer  without  comment,  which 
shows  how  much  better  it  is  to  reply  promptly  to  a 
child.  But  he  put  another  question. 

"Do  whiskers  grow,  Doody?" 

"  Yes,  of  course." 

"Like  grass?" 

"  Yes." 

A  brief  silence. 

"Doody,  what  is  whisker  seed  like?" 

At  this  there  came  from  the  open  kitchen  window 
a  prolonged  cackle. 

"  Hullo,  Mrs.  Sammy ! "  the  boy  called  gaily  to 
the  old  woman,  who  immediately  dodged  from 
sight. 

Mr.  Gird  wood  stopped  in  the  midst  of  a  chuckle. 
"  Away,  woman,  away !  "  he  cried  sternly ;  "  would 
ye  spile  the  pictur  after  all?  " 

Having  addressed  a  few  warning  words  to  his 
son,  Nevis  returned  to  his  canvas,  while  the  sitter 
gradually  composed  himself. 

"  Excuse  my  sister,  if  ye  please,  sir,"  said  the 
latter.  "How's  the  pentin'  gettin'  on?" 

"  I  think  we'll  manage  to  make  a  start  soon,"  the 
artist  returned,  laughing. 

Mr.  Girdwood  gaped. 

"  The  beginning  is   the   worst,"   Nevis   assured 


The  First  Sitting  73 

him.  "  Now  make  yourself  comfortable,  and  we'll 
go  ahead." 

Nearly  fifteen  minutes  passed  without  interrup- 
tion. Jim,  having  tired  of  painting  Mr.  Froggie's 
portrait,  was  painting  Mr.  Froggie  himself;  Nevis 
was  working  diligently;  the  old  man  was  perspir- 
ing and  smirking. 

Then,  all  at  once,  the  last  mentioned  threw  out 
his  right  hand,  and  in  a  hoarse  whisper  said  — 

"  Sir,  I'm  vexed  to  stop  ye,  but "  His  voice 

rose  to  a  roar.  "  Elizabeth,  shift  frae  that  window! 
D'ye  hear?" 

For  a  marvel  Miss  Girdwood  retorted  quite 
crossly  — 

"  I  wasna  lookin'  at  you;  I  was  lookin*  at  James 
Crow." 

"  Well,  I  canna  thole  ye  at  the  window  when  I'm 
gettin'  my  portrait  pentit." 

"  Ye  couldna  see  me." 

"  I  heard  ye  breathin'." 

Miss  Girdwood  retired,  and  Mr.  Girdwood  after 
several  violent  shrugs  regained,  with  the  utmost 
precision,  his  former  position. 

Jim  got  up.  "  I  think  I'll  go  into  the  house  and 
talk  to  Mrs.  Sammy,"  he  announced,  "  and  see  the 
fun-owl." 

"  Do  you  think  he  might  ?  "  Nevis  inquired  of 
the  old  man. 


74 


"Please!  "said  Jim. 

Somehow  Mr.  Girdwood  did  not  much  care 
about  his  sister  having  the  boy  all  to  herself. 

"  James  Crow  isna  disturbin'  me,"  he  replied  un- 
truthfully. "  He's  fine  where  he  is." 

"  But  I  want  to  go  into  the  house,  Mr.  Sammy." 

"  I  really  think  it  wouldn't  be  a  bad  plan,"  the 
artist  remarked,  with  a  smile. 

"  Ah,  well,"  said  Mr.  Girdwood  reluctantly,  "  ye 
best  gang  in,  my  lad,  an'  see  the  owl;  but  —  ye 
needna  pay  any  attention  to  her.  .  .  .  Eliza- 
beth !  "  he  shouted,  "  open  the  door  !  " 

The  old  woman  obeyed  almost  at  once.  "  What 
are  ye  wantin',  Samuel  ?  " 

"James  Crow's  comin'  in  to  see  the  owl  I  shot 
in  Africa.  Mind,  'tis  the  owl  he's  wantin'  to  see." 

"  An'  ye're  welcome  to  see  the  owl,  dearie,"  said 
Miss  Girdwood,  delighted,  to  Jim. 

"  And  you'll  tell  me  again  how  Mr.  Sammy  shot 
it,"  he  responded. 

"  Na,  na  !  "  cried  Mr.  Girdwood,  greatly  per- 
turbed. "  She's  not  to  do  that  !  " 

"  Aw,  I'll  tell  ye  about  something  else,  dearie," 
she  said  kindly  — 

"  Ye're  not  to  tell  him  anything  about  me, 
woman  !  —  mind  that  !  " 

"  Oh,  Samuel,"  she  said  soothingly,  "  dinna  fash 
yersel'.  Jist  pay  attention  to  yer  portrait." 


The  First  Sitting  75 

"  I  suspose,"  said  Jim,  "  you  don't  know  about 
all  Mr.  Sammy's  adventures  so  well  as  he  does." 

"I  —  I  never  speak  about  them,  dearie.  Come 
in  now,  for  I  doubt  we're  keepin'  yer  doddy  back." 

"  Doody ! "  yelled  Mr.  Girdwood  as  the  door 
closed.  "Oh,  me!  the  stupeedity  o'  women!"  he 
remarked  to  Nevis ;  adding,  "  I  hope  she'll  not  be 
tellin'  him  a  heap  o'  nonsense  about  me."  Once 
more  he  settled  himself  in  position,  but  he  was  ob- 
viously nervous. 

"  I'm  afraid  that  boy  of  mine  has  upset  you  for 
to-day,"  said  Nevis  at  last,  fairly  baffled  by  the 
changing  expressions  of  the  ancient  visage. 

Mr.  Girdwood  did  not  seem  to  hear.  He  was 
listening  anxiously  with  his  mouth;  his  eyes  were 
fixed  in  a  sidelong  stare  on  the  window.  He  ap- 
peared to  be  expecting  something  to  happen. 

And  it  happened  sooner  than  he  expected.  He 
all  but  fell  from  the  bench  when,  with  a  merry 
"  peep-bo,  Mr.  Sammy !  "  a  small  hand  shot  forth, 
grasping  the  stuffed  owl.  A  badly  stifled  cackle 
followed  the  surprise. 

The  least  Nevis  could  do  was  to  be  angry. 

"  That's  enough,  Jim,"  he  called.  "  If  you're  not 
going  to " 

"  Doody,"  cried  Jim  unabashed,  "  do  you  remem- 
ber the  book  at  home,  with  the  picture  of  the  doody 
standing  beside  the  wild  beasts  he  shot?  " 


76  Jim 

"What  about  it?"  demanded  Nevis,  hoping  for 
a  change  of  subject. 

"  Well,  I  think  you  should  paint  Mr.  Sammy  be- 
side the  fun-owl,  'cause  he  shot  it.  ...  Mr. 
Sammy,  will  you  have  it  at  your  feet  or  on  your 
knee?  Do  you  hear  Mrs.  Sammy  laughing?  —  raz- 
zer  like  a  tewken!  You  do  laugh  funny,  Mrs. 
Sammy;  but  I  like  it." 

"  Oh,  dearie,  ye'll  be  the  death  o'  me ! "  gasped 
the  old  woman.  Next  moment  she  popped  her  head 
out  of  the  window.  "  Samuel,  dinna  be  vexed, 
man.  'Twas  but  a  bit  joke." 

"  I'm  afraid,"  said  Nevis  to  his  son,  "  you  have 
quite  ruined  the  sitting.  You  had  better  come  home 
with  me  at  once." 

"But,  Doody " 

"  Give  Miss  Girdwood  the  bird,  and  < " 

"  It's  an  owl." 

"  Give  it  to  her,  and  come  to  me  at  once.  I'm 
ashamed  of  you." 

"You're  not!" 

"  But  I  am.     Come  along,  quickly !  " 

Said  Miss  Girdwood  gently,  "  Oh,  sir,  he  didna 
mean  it.  Him  an'  me'll  bide  in  the  parlour,  an' 
let  ye  win  through  wi'  yer  job.  I  dare  say  Sam- 
uel's awfu'  ill  to  pent.  Let  James  Crow  bide  wi' 
me,  if  ye  please,  sir." 

But  Mr.  Girdwood,  his  mind  still  obsessed  by  the 


The  First  Sitting  77 

dread  of  being  "  given  away  "  by  his  sister,  said, 
"  Clay  up,  Elizabeth !  James  Crow's  better  wi'  his 
doody." 

"  Come  along,  Jim,"  said  Nevis  sternly.  "  See 
how  you've  spoilt  everything.  .  .  .  I'm  sorry, 
Miss  Girdwood,  but  I  must  ask  you  to  open  the 
door  for  him." 

"  Can  I  not  get  givin'  him  a  biscuit  first,  sir  ?  " 
she  pleaded. 

Nevis  shook  his  head.  "  Jim,  I've  already  asked 
you  twice  to  come  to  me." 

"  Three  times,  Doody,"  said  Jim,  and  broke 
down,  "  But  I'm  coming,"  he  sobbed. 

"  Oh,  dearie !  "  sighed  Miss  Girdwood,  and  led 
him  to  the  door.  "  I'm  vexed  there's  not  a  single 
peppermint  in  the  house,"  she  continued.  "  Dinna 
cry,  my  wee  laddie,  dinna  cry " 

"  I'm  not,"  said  Jim,  drying  his  eyes  on  her 
apron.  "But  —  but  Doody  said  he  was  'shamed 
of  me." 

He  went  to  his  father  without  taking  any  notice 
of  Mr.  Girdwood.  He  threw  himself  on  his  father, 
sending  palette  and  brushes  spinning. 

"Why  was  you  'shamed  of  me,  Doody?"  he 
wailed. 

"  Because  —  because "  Nevis,  for  the  life 

of  him,  could  not  explain. 

"  I  was  never  'shamed  of  you,  Doody." 


78  Jim 

There  was  a  silence. 

"  All  right,  old  man,"  whispered  Nevis.  "  But 
you  must  learn  obedience,  you  know.  It  all  came 
of  not  doing  what  I  asked.  Well,  well,  I  forgive 
you.  No,  no !  —  I'm  not  really  ashamed  of  you. 
But  you  must  go  to  Mr.  Sammy,  and  tell  him  you're 
sorry  for  upsetting  everything.  Will  you?" 

"  Y-yes,  Doody.     But  —  I've  lost  my  hanky." 

Presently  he  approached  Mr.  Girdwood  slowly, 
far  from  willingly. 

"  Aw,  the  wee  man !  "  muttered  Miss  Girdwood, 
and  turned  into  the  doorway,  tears  on  her  withered 
face. 

But  it  was  too  much  for  the  old  man.  Up  he 
got  and  toddled  to  meet  the  boy,  crying  — 

"  James  Crow,  James  Crow,  'twas  most  my  fault. 
Oh,  sure,  'twas  all  my  fault.  Will  ye  shake  hands, 
an' — an'  let  it  pass?  An'  if  ye  say  'tis  got  to  be, 
—  well,  yer  Doody  can  pent  me  an'  the  owl  —  the 
fun-owl  —  in  the  same  pictur  —  an'  I'll  chance  it !  " 

Jim  clung  to  the  old  hand,  but  for  a  space  said 
nothing.  Then  — 

"  I  think  I'd  really  pifer  the  fun-owl  in  a  picture 
of  its  own,"  he  said. 


MRS.  SAMMY  SAVES  THE  SITUATION 

"  AND  if  Mr.  Sammy  hadn't  fired  guns  and 
shouted  very  loud  and  made  fearful  noises  with  his 
feet,  the  whale  would  have  gobbled  him  up!  — 
Wasn't  he  brave,  Doody  ?  " 

"  I  should  say  so,"  assented  Nevis,  who  was  ex- 
amining a  milky  -hued  pebble  which  he  had  just 
sifted  from  a  handful  of  fine  gravel. 

Mr.  Girdwood  writhed  on  the  flat  rock  whereon, 
with  considerable  diffidence,  he  had  seated  himself 
half-an-hour  earlier. 

"Did  you  ever  hear  of  such  a  brave  doody?" 
the  boy  persisted.  "  The  whale  had  its  mouth 
wide  open,  and  Mr.  Sammy  had  nothing  on  but 


"  Never  !  "  said  Nevis  firmly.  "  I'm  beginning 
to  feel  that  Mr.  Girdwood's  African  adventures 
would  make  rather  an  entertaining  book." 

It  may  be  that  one  cannot  blush  after  eighty  — 
in  this  world,  at  any  rate.  But  if  Mr.  Girdwood's 
colour  failed  to  increase,  he  perspired  freely 
enough. 

79 


8o  Jim 

"  James  Crow,"  he  said  feebly,  "  ye' re  not  to 
bother  yer  doody  wi'  my  stupid  stories." 

"  They're  not  stupid,"  Jim  promptly  replied. 
"  And  Doody  likes  to  hear  them.  I  tell  him  all 
your  stories,  Mr.  Sammy  —  don't  I,  Doody?" 

"  I  believe  you  do,  Jim  Crow,"  said  Nevis,  taking 
up  another  handful  of  gravel. 

Jim  turned  to  the  old  man.  "  Doody  liked  the 
one  about  when  you  cuffed  the  hedgehog's  ears  for 
eating  up  your  dinner  in  Africa,"  he  said.  "  Doody 
roared  and  laughed." 

"Aw,"  murmured  Mr.  Girdwood,  and  gazed  in 
turn  at  sea,  sky  and  cliffs.  "  'Tis  time  I  was  step- 
pin'  home,"  he  said  at  last,  making  to  rise.  "  Eliza- 
beth'll  be  gettin'  the  denner  ready." 

"  But  you're  going  to  have  lunch  with  us,  Mr. 
Sammy,"  said  Jim.  "  You  promised  —  and  it's  in 
the  bastek  for  you.  'Sides,  you've  got  to  tell  the 
story  about  the  giraffes  with  the  f ezzers  —  feathers 
—  on  their  noses.  Doody  wants  to  hear  how  you 
stole  their  eggs  when  they  weren't  looking.  Don't 
you,  Doody  ?  " 

"  Certainly,"  said  Nevis.  "  But,  still,  if  Mr.  Gird- 
wood "  He  fingered  a  fresh  handful  of 

gravel.  "  The  pebbles  are  pretty  scarce,  aren't 
they?" 

"  That's  what  Mr.  Sammy  said  about  the 
giraffe's  eggs.  Didn't  you,  Mr.  Sammy  ?  " 


Mrs.  Sammy  Saves  the  Situation       81 

"  Aw,"  murmured  the  old  man  again,  looking 
supremely  uncomfortable.  "  'Tis  surely  very  kind 
o'  ye,  James  Crow,"  he  continued,  "  but  I  —  I  best 
be  steppin'  home.  Ye  see,  Elizabeth " 

"  She  won't  give  you  beans,  will  she?  " 

"  No ;  'tis  pea-soup  on  Fridays.  But,  ye 
see " 

Nevis  roused  himself.  He  and  his  son  had  been 
lying  in  the  sunny  cove  since  shortly  after  break- 
fast, and  the  comfort  of  the  shingle  and  the  hush- 
ing of  the  sea  had  made  him  drowsy.  Mr.  Gird- 
wood  had  —  apparently  quite  inadvertently  — 
joined  them  about  noon. 

"  The  pebbles  are  pretty,  but  they  are  few,"  said 
Nevis,  rolling  over  and  sitting  up. 

"  Very,  very  few,  sir,"  the  old  man  said,  still 
writhing ;  "  very,  very  few,  indeed,  to  be  sure." 

"  You  said  there  was  heaps,"  remarked  Jim, 
eyeing  him. 

Mr.  Girdwood  was  getting  used  to  prevaricating. 
"  I  meant  very  few  heaps,  James  Crow,"  he  said 
hastily.  "Ye  see?" 

"  I  see,"  Jim  replied.  "  I  can  find  more  pebbles 
than  Doody." 

"  Quite  right,"  said  Nevis,  whose  pockets  bulged 
with  his  son's  tribute  in  the  form  of  sand,  broken 
shells,  pieces  of  flint  and  small  stones.  The  milky 
and  scarlet  pebbles  for  which  Clure  Bay  was  noted 


82  Jim 

were  really  difficult  to  find;  but  it's  a  sorry  sort  of 
child  that  can't  discover  some  treasures  on  the  sea- 
shore at  the  first  attempt. 

"  Did  you  get  pebbles  in  Africa,  Mr.  Sammy  ?  " 
the  boy  inquired. 

Mr.  Gird  wood,  afraid  to  commit  himself,  shook 
his  head,  nodded,  then  shook  it  again. 

"  Wasn't  it  a  nice  shore  like  this,  Mr.  Sammy  ?  " 

"  'Twas  a  nice  enough  shore,"  was  the  slow,  un- 
willing reply;  "a  nice  enough  shore  for  them  as 
liked  it." 

"  But  what  sort  of  shore  was  it?  " 

Nevis  interposed.  "  I  think  you  might  give  Mr. 
Girdwood  a  rest,"  he  mildly  remonstrated,  "  and 
then  we'll  have  lunch." 

"  But  he  likes  talking  about  Africa,  don't  you, 
Mr.  Sammy  ?  " 

"  In  private,  James  Crow,  in  private,"  the  old 
man  answered  in  a  whisper,  desperately. 

"What's  'in  private,'  Doody?" 

"  Mr.  Girdwood  means,"  said  Nevis  gravely, 
"  that  he  prefers  to  tell  his  stories  to  one  person  at 
a  time." 

"  That's  why  he  always  stops  when  Mrs.  Sammy 
comes,"  said  Jim,  looking  reflective.  "  I  suspose, 
Mr.  Sammy,  you  tell  her  stories  when  I'm  not 
there." 

Mr.  Girdwood  murmured  something  to  the  effect 


Mrs.  Sammy  Saves  the  Situation      83 

that  his  sister  did  not  much  care  for  his  stories, 
and  added  that  he  must  be  stepping  home. 

"  Come  along,  Jim  Crow,  and  help  me  to  unpack 
the  basket,"  said  Nevis,  in  order  to  create  a  diver- 
sion. "  Mr.  Girdwood  must  have  some  soup  before 
he  starts  to  climb  the  hill  —  if  he  insists  on  going." 

"  Mr.  Sammy's  legs  are  much  stronger  than  they 
used  to  be,"  observed  Jim.  "  Aren't  they,  Mr. 
Sammy  ?  " 

Mr.  Girdwood  chuckled  —  doubtless  with  relief 
at  the  longed-for  change  of  subject.  "  "Tis  so, 
James  Crow,  'tis  so.  They  was  only  needin'  exer- 
cise, I'm  thinkin'." 

"  But  I'm  sure  Mrs.  Sammy  would  like  the  story 
about  when  you  killed  the  four  rhinoceroses  with 
your  sword.  I'll  tell  her  about  it,  if  you  like." 

"  Na,  na !  She  —  she  doesna  like  to  hear  about 
dangerous  beasts " 

"  Come  along,  Jim.  Take  the  sandwiches  to  Mr. 
Girdwood,"  put  in  Nevis. 

"  All  right,  Doody.  ...  I  suppose  she  pifers 
to  hear  about  kind  beasts,  like  froggies  and  tewkens 
and  fun-owls,  and " 

"  Jist  that,  jist  that!  "  cried  the  old  man  eagerly, 
the  sandwich  trembling  in  his  hand.  "  Oh,  she's 
terrible  fond  o'  hearin'  about  kind  beasts !  I  —  I'll 
be  greatly  obliged  if  ye'll  never  tell  her  about 
nothin'  but  —  but  kind  beasts." 


84  Jim 

"  I  suspose,"  said  Jim  thoughtfully,  "  a  hedgehog 
is  a  sort  of  kind  beast  —  when  it's  good  and  doesn't 
steal  people's  dinners.  I'd  like  to  tell  Mrs.  Sammy 
about  the  hedgehog." 

"  Na,  na !  Ye  canna  call  a  hedgehog  a  kind 
beast.  'Tis  a  terrible  cruel  beast " 

"  But  it's  not  very  big " 

"  Not  very  big !  My !  I've  seen  a  hedgehog  as 

big  as  —  as  —  as "  Mr.  Girdwood  paused, 

looking  rather  helpless.  After  all,  he  did  not  want 
to  tell  more  falsehoods  than  he  could  help.  "I  — 
I  hope  ye'll  never  tell  her  about  the  hedgehog,"  he 
said  at  last  feebly. 

Jim  appeared  far  from  satisfied.  "  Would  it 
frighten  her?"  he  demanded. 

"Not  exac'ly;  but  — but "  And  then  Mr. 

Girdwood  received  one  of  the  inspirations  of  his 
life.  In  a  hoarse  whisper — "James  Crow,  I'll 
tell  ye  why  ye're  not  to  tell  her  about  the  hedge- 
hog!" 

"Why?" 

"  Because  she  canna  bear  hearin'  about  jaggy 
beasts.  It  —  it  mak's  her  creep." 

"On  the  floor?"  said  Jim,  highly  interested. 

"  Na,  na ;  it  mak's  her  flesh  creep,  I  should  ha' 
said  —  her  flesh,  ye  ken." 

"  But  where  does  it  creep  ?  " 

"  Aw  —  it  jist  creeps." 


Mrs.  Sammy  Saves  the  Situation       85 

"Does  it  hurt?" 

"  Maybe  it  doesna  exac'ly  hurt,  but  — — " 

"  Does  her  nose  creep,  too  ?  " 

"  'Tis  like  as  not,"  replied  Mr.  Girdwood  very 
solemnly  and  impressively.  "  All  her  flesh  creeps." 

"If  it  doesn't  hurt,  I  think  I'd  like  to  tell  Mrs. 
Sammy  about  the  hedgehog,"  said  Jim. 

Just  then  Nevis  came  over  with  a  mug  of  soup 
in  one  hand  and  another  of  milk  in  the  other. 

"  Thank  ye,  thank  ye,"  the  old  man  stammered, 
"  but  I  think  I  best  be  steppin' " 

"  Doody,"  said  Jim,  who  already  enjoyed  a  vision 
of  Miss  Girdwood's  nose  making  a  slow  circuit  of 
her  head,  "  shall  we  go  to  see  Mrs.  Sammy  after 
lunch?" 

"  Oh,  I  don't  think  we'll  trouble  Miss  Girdwood 
to-day.  We're  going  to  examine  the  pools  when  the 
tide  goes  out,  you  know;  and  then,  you  remember, 
you  are  going  to  have  tea  with  Daisy -" 

"  But  I'd  like  to  see  her  just  for  a  minute, 
Doody." 

"  Well,  well,  we  shall  see."  Nevis  turned  with  a 
smile  to  Mr.  Girdwood.  "  Your  sister  has  quite 
captured  his  heart,  but  she  must  not  allow  him  to 
intrude  whenever  the  spirit  moves  him  in  her  direc- 
tion." 

Mr.  Girdwood  mumbled  something  incoherent, 
finished  his  sandwich  and  gulped  his  soup. 


86  Jim 

"  I  best  be  goin',  sir,"  he  said,  slowly  rising. 
"  Maybe  I'll  see  ye  another  time." 

"  Oh,  don't  go  away,  Mr.  Sammy,"  the  boy 
pleaded.  "  Stay  and  help  us  to  look  for  things  in 
the  pools  when  the  tide  goes  out." 

But  Mr.  Girdwood  would  not  be  persuaded. 

"  Thank  ye,  James  Crow,  but  I  best  be  goin'," 
he  said  in  a  mournful  voice.  "  I'm  thinkin'  'tis  bad 
for  my  rheumatis  hereabouts.  I  —  I'll  maybe  see 
ye  an'  yer  doody  another  time." 

Presently,  with  the  aid  of  his  staff,  he  was  tod- 
dling up  the  rough  track  of  a  cleft  in  the  cliff. 

"  Jim  Crow,"  said  Nevis  kindly,  "  you  must  try 
to  remember  that  very  old  people  like  Mr.  Sammy 
don't  always  want  to  talk;  sometimes  they  want  to 
sit  quiet.  If  you  had  left  him  alone  for  a  little 
while,  he  might  have  stayed  longer.  You  see  ?  " 

Jim  nodded,  and  for  a  moment  or  two  was  silent. 
Then,  with  a  smile  — "  I  'spect  you'll  get  a  siprise, 
Doody,  when  we  go  to  see  Mrs.  Sammy  after- 
wards." 

"What  sort  of  surprise,  old  chap?" 

Jim  laughed  and  applied  himself  to  his  sandwich 
and  milk. 

Mr.  Girdwood  approached  his  home  even  more 
slowly  than  his  aged  limbs  required.  He  was  in  a 
sorry  plight  of  mind.  Not  for  a  moment  did  he 


Mrs.  Sammy  Saves  the  Situation       87 

blame  Jim  Crow,  but  he  did  wish  that  the  boy  had 
not  repeated  his  stories  to  Mr.  Nevis.  It  was  not 
that  Mr.  Nevis  had  laughed  at  his  stories,  though 
that  was  bad  enough;  but  Mr.  Girdwood  was  un- 
easy lest  Mr.  Nevis  might  sooner  or  later  object 
to  his  son's  companionship  with  a  person  who  had 
lately  become  almost  a  stranger  to  the  truth. 
Moreover,  for  the  last  week  Elizabeth,  alarmed  at 
his  suddenly  developed  powers  of  imagination,  had 
been  urging  him  to  drop  his  African  adventures 
altogether  and  to  entertain  "  the  laddie  "  with  tales 
having  at  least  some  foundation  in  fact.  Unfor- 
tunately such  efforts  had  been  but  coldly  received 
by  Jim,  who  continued  to  demand  the  aforesaid 
adventures,  which,  truth  to  tell,  the  old  man  enjoyed 
hugely  in  the  hour  of  their  recital,  being  carried 
away,  so  to  speak,  on  the  wings  of  his  own  inven- 
tions, though  afterwards  he  became  oppressed  with 
the  dread  of  his  sister  learning  how  far  he  had  gone 
on  the  downward  way.  He  knew  that,  so  far,  only 
the  merest  fragments  of  his  "  adventures  "  had  been 
retailed  to  her.  But  even  so  she  had  taken  fright. 
What  would  happen  were  a  single  "  complete  story  " 
to  reach  her  ears  he  dared  not  contemplate. 

"  'Tis  the  big  fool  ye  are,  Samuel  Girdwood,"  he 
said  to  himself,  "talkin'  to  James  Crow  about 
makin'  her  flesh  creep.  Now  he'll  be  tellin'  her 
about  the  hedgehog,  for  sure  —  an'  'tis  natural 


88  Jim 

enough  for  him  to  want  to  see  it  creepin',  poor  lad. 
But  he'll  not  see  nothin' — an'  then  he'll  be 
blamin'  me  for  deceivin'  him,  an'  Elizabeth'll  be 
blamin'  me  for  the  same  as  well  as  for  the  false- 
hoods about  the  hedgehog.  .  .  .  Oh,  'tis  a  fine 
mess  ye've  got  yersel'  into,  Samuel  Girdwood !  " 

An  astonished  Miss  Girdwood  opened  the  cottage 
door. 

"  I  thought  ye  wasna  comin'  home,"  she  began. 
Then  anxiously  — "  What's  ado,  Samuel  ?  Are  ye 
sick?" 

He  shook  his  head.  "  Let  me  in,  an'  hold  yer 
tongue !  "  A  minute  later  he  was  in  his  armchair. 
"  Na,  na.  Tak'  yer  own  denner,  woman.  I've  had 
all  I  want.  I'm  not  hungry." 

But  she  set  a  basin  of  soup  on  the  table  at  his 
elbow.  "  Jist  leave  it,  if  ye  dinna  want  it.  Was  ye 
feelin'  cold  on  the  shore?  I  hope  yer  rheu- 
matis " 

"  Eat  yer  denner,  an'  never  mind  me.  .  .  . 
James  Crow'll  maybe  be  here  the  day,"  he  an- 
nounced abruptly  after  a  longish  silence. 

"  Well,  well,"  she  said,  pleasure  shining  through 
her  perplexity.  "  I  was  feart  you  an'  him  had  cast 
out,"  she  went  on  with  a  faint  laugh.  "  I  won- 
dered, when  I  seen  ye  comin'  up  the  road " 

"Jam.es  Crow's  maybe  comin'  to  see  yer  flesh 
creep,"  he  said,  .and  groaned. 


Mrs.  Sammy  Saves  the  Situation       89 

"What?"     The  spoon  fell  from  her  fingers. 

His  explanation  and  confession,  which  included 
the  Adventure  of  the  Hedgehog,  occupied  consid- 
erable time.  The  soup  was  cold  when  Mr.  Gird- 
wood  sank  back  in  his  chair  with  another  groan. 

To  his  amazement  she  did  not  upbraid  him.  But 
there  was  a  solemn  silence  during  which  she  looked 
puzzled  and  perhaps  a  little  sad. 

"  'Tis  the  worst  of  all  my  stories,  Elizabeth,"  he 
said  at  last,  apologetically.  "  'Tis  the  fullest  wi' 
falsehoods  of  them  all.  That's  how  I  —  I  didna 
want  ye  to  hear  about  it." 

Of  a  sudden  she  laughed.  "  Oh,  Samuel,"  she 
cried,  "  I  wish  I  had  seen  ye  cuffin'  its  ears !  " 

Mr.  Girdwood  immediately  looked  offended. 

"  'Twas  you  that  started  me  at  the  stories,  any- 
way," he  muttered. 

She  was  grave  again.  "  But  surely  I  tried  to 
stop  ye  goin'  over  far,  Samuel." 

"  'Tis  likely  that  Eve  said  something  the  same  to 
Adam  —  after  he  had  ett  his  bit  o'  the  apple." 

She  accepted  the  remark  without  showing  resent- 
ment. "  I  was  thinkin'  about  yer  stories  all  the 
mornin',  Samuel,"  she  said  gently,  "  an'  I  got  the 
notion  that  the  tellin'  o'  them  wasna  maybe  so  bad 
a  sin  after  all.  Think  o'  the  folks  that  spends  their 
lifes  writin'  story-books!  Ye're  nothin'  to  them, 
Samuel,  are  ye?  An'  I've  seen  plenty  story-books 


90  Jim 

in  the  Manse.  So  I  decided  to  say  never  a  word 
more  to  ye  about  tellin'  James  Crow  stories,  excep' 
that  I  hope  ye'll  not  get  into  the  habit  when  James 
Crow's  not  there.  So,  Samuel  dearie " 

Alas !  How  speedily  does  our  repentance  evapo- 
rate when  we  find  we  are  to  escape  a  scolding  after 
all.  There  was  quite  an  arrogant  snap  in  Samuel's 
voice  as  he  interrupted  her  with  — 

"  That's  not  the  p'int,  woman,  that's  not  the 
p'int!" 

"  An'  what's  the  p'int  ?  "  she  mildly  inquired. 

"  The  p'int's  jist  this,  that  ye  canna  mak'  ye  flesh 
creep  for  James  Crow.  That's  the  p'int !  " 

"  Mercy  on  us !  Did  ye  tell  the  laddie  he  would 
see  it  creepin'  ?  " 

"  He  expec's  to  see  it,  anyway  —  ay,  an'  yer  nose 
movin' " 

"  My  nose  movin' !     Aw,  Samuel " 

"I  —  I  tried  to  save  ye,  woman."  (Oh,  Mr. 
Girdwood!) 

"  My  nose  movin' !  .  .  .  An'  he's  goin'  to 
tell  me  about  yer  hedgehog  to  mak'  my  flesh 
creep.  Aw,  the  wee  man !  —  he'll  be  that  disap- 
p'inted!" 

"  Ay ;  for  ye  canna  move  yer  nose  an  inch,"  said 
Mr.  Girdwood,  as  if  he  could  move  his  an  ell.  "  An' 
he'll  be  blamin'  me  for  deceivin'  him,  for  I  doubt 
he's  set  his  heart  on  seein'  it  creep." 


Mrs.  Sammy  Saves  the  Situation       91 

"  Look,  Samuel,"  said  Miss  Girdwood  suddenly. 

"That's  not  movin'  yer  nose;  that's  jist  makm' 
a  face.  Like  as  not,  James  Crow'll  wash  his  hands 
o'  me  after  this." 

Miss  Girdwood  sighed  helplessly.  "  'Tis  a  terri- 
ble thing  to  disapp'int  a  little  one,"  she  murmured. 

"  'Tis  all  that,"  said  Samuel,  and  groaned. 

Next  moment  he  started  as,  with  a  sharp  cry,  his 
sister  rose  and  crossed  the  kitchen  floor. 

"  Are  they  comin'  ?  "  he  asked  anxiously. 

"  Whisht,  Samuel.     Dinna  speak." 

The  old  woman  was  peering  into  the  small  mirror 
over  the  sink. 

A  minute  passed,  and  then  she  emitted  a  gay  little 
cackle. 

"  'Tis  better'n  nothin',"  she  whispered ;  "  an' 
maybe  James  Crow'll  be  satisfied " 

"  What  d'ye  mean,  Elizabeth?  " 

"  Oh,  Samuel,"  she  said,  half  laughing,  half  sob- 
bing, "  d'ye  not  mind  when  I  was  a  lassie?  .  .  . 
I  was  f eart  I  had  forgot  the  way  —  but  I  can  do  it 
yet  —  an'  I'm  sure  'tis  fifty  year  since  I  done  it 
last " 

"  Do  what,  woman?  " 

"  Move  my  ears,  Samuel,  move  my  ears !  " 

It  turned  out  to  be  one  of  the  most  entertaining 
half-hours  of  Jim's  life. 


92  Jim 

He  was  simply  and  frankly  delighted. 
So  was  Miss  Girdwood. 

So  also  might  have  been  Mr.  Girdwood,  had  he 
not  become  jealous  of  his  sister's  accomplishment. 


JIM  TELLS  A  TALE 


"  BUT  I  don't  want  to  be  a  sausage,"  the  little 
girl  protested ;  "  I  want  to  be  a  princess." 

"  Well,  Daisy,  you  shall  be  a  princess  after  you've 
been  a  sausage  for  ten  years,"  said  Jim  patiently. 
"  Doody,  tell  her  the  story  again." 

They  were  in  the  Magic  Wood  once  more,  and 
the  boy  was  keenly  desirous  of  acting  the  fairy  tale 
which  his  father  had  invented,  more  or  less,  a  few 
evenings  ago.  In  extenuation  of  its  absurdity  may 
be  mentioned  the  fact  that  at  its  first  recital  the 
teller  had  been  harassed  by  certain  worldly  cares, 
while  the  listener  had  previously  been  wearying  for 
his  absent  mother. 

"  I  think  you  might  tell  it  yourself,"  said  Nevis, 
who  was  sitting  a  little  way  off,  barely  within  ear- 
shot, making  a  water-colour  sketch. 

"  Ay,  tell  it  yersel',  James  Crow,"  put  in  Mr. 
Girdwood.  He  had  arrived  quite  unexpectedly  a 
few  minutes  ago,  and  was  now  enjoying  a  pipe  of 
the  artist's  tobacco.  "  'Tis  a  long  time  since  I  heard 
ye  tell  a  story." 

"  Yes,"  said  Daisy,  seating  herself  on  the  grass 
93 


94 


with  her  doll.  "  Tell  it  yourself,  Jim  Crow.  But 
I  want  to  be  a  princess." 

The  requests  were  so  sincere  that  Jim  did  not  be- 
come self-conscious. 

"  I'll  tell  you,"  he  said,  and  solemnly  he  held  up 
his  right  forefinger.  "  Listen  !  Pay  great  inten- 
tion. Mr.  Sammy,  don't  laugh  with  your  whis- 
kers!" 

Mr.  Girdwood  checked  his  grin  and  murmured  an 
apology. 

"  Now  I'll  begin.  Daisy,  don't  speak  that  silly 
way  to  your  doll." 

"  I  was  putting  her  to  sleep.  .  .  .  She's 
sleeping  now." 

"  Well  —  once  upon  a  time  there  was  a  little  girl, 
and  her  doody  was  a  king.  He  was  a  nice  kind 
doody,  'cept  when  he  hadn't  enough  pennies.  He 
used  to  tell  the  little  girl  lovely  stories  about  fairies. 
I  suspose  he  would  have  told  her  about  gnomes  and 
pixies  and  elfs  and  Mr.  Fun-Owl,  if  he  had  known 
about  them.  But,  you  see,  he  didn't.  So  one  day 
the  little  girl  came  running  to  his  throne  and  asked 
him  to  tell  her  a  fairy  tale.  But  the  king  hadn't 
enough  pennies  that  day,  and  he  was  fearful  cross. 
He  said  :  '  Snuff  and  tonsense  !  '  —  please  don't 
make  fun-noises,  Mr.  Sammy  —  he  said  :  '  Snuff 
and  tonsense  !  I'm  not  going  to  tell  you  any  more 
fairy  tales,  'cause  you're  too  old,  and,  'sides,  there 


Jim  Tells  a  Tale  95 

aren't  any  fairies ! '  And  whenever  he  said  that,  a 
fairy  bounced  into  the  room  out  of  nowhere.  And 
it  was  a  wicked  fairy !  And  the  wicked  fairy  said : 
*  Mr.  King,  did  I  hear  you  say  there  wasn't  any 
fairies  ?  '  And  the  king  got  angrier  than  ever,  and 
he  said:  'Of  course!  Fairies  are  just  snuff  and 
tonsense ! ' " 

"  Maybe,"  Mr.  Girdwood  ventured  gently,  "  ye'll 
be  meanin'  '  stuff  and  nonsense,'  James  Crow." 

"  No,  I  don't.  Doody  says  '  snuff  and  tonsense ! ' 
Please  keep  very  quiet,  Mr.  Sammy." 

Mr.  Girdwood  apologized  once  more,  adding, 
"  'Tis  a  fine  story,  to  be  sure." 

"Yes,  it  is,"  agreed  Jim  heartily.  "Wait  till 
you  hear  it.  ...  When  the  king  said  that,  the 
wicked  fairy  got  very  angry  too,  and  waved  her 
wand,  and  cried,  '  Look  at  your  little  girl,  Mr. 
King ! '  And  the  king  looked,  and  lo !  and  behold ! 
his  little  girl  was  turned  into  a  sausage.  And  she 
rolled  on  the  floor,  'cause  she  couldn't  stand." 

"  A  sassige !  "  murmured  Mr.  Girdwood. 

"  Why  couldn't  she  stand  ?  "  inquired  Daisy. 

"  Sausages  have  no  feet ;  they've  got  always  to 
lie  down  or  roll  about.  .  .  .  And  then  the 
wicked  fairy  went  away.  But  before  she  went  away 
she  said :  *  Mr.  King,  your  little  girl  will  be  a  sau- 
sage till  a  handsome  prince  kisses  her/  Then  the 
king  was  in  a  fearful  state,  and  sent  soldiers  and 


96  Jim 

p'licemen  to  catch  the  wicked  fairy.  But  they 
couldn't  find  her  anywhere.  And  then  the  doctor 
came,  but  he  couldn't  do  anything,  'cause  a  sausage 
can't  put  out  its  tongue  and  you  can't  feel  its  pulse. 
So  the  doctor  shook  his  head  and  said  —  Doody, 
what  did  the  doctor  say?  " 

"  What  doctor  ?  "  Nevis  had  become  absorbed  in 
his  work. 

"  The  doctor  that  came  to  the  little  sausage  girl." 

"  Ah,"  said  Nevis,  "  he  just  said :  '  Avoid  bow- 
wows and  pussy-cats  —  one  guinea  —  good-morn- 
ing ' —  and  went  away." 

"  Yes,"  Jim  resumed,  "  that's  what  he  said.  And 
the  king  was  m  a  fearful  state,  and  so  was  the 
queen.  Everybody  was  in  a  fearful  state,  'cept  the 
little  sausage  girl " 

"  Why  wasn't  she  in  a  fearful  state?  "  Daisy  in- 
quired. 

"  'Cause  she  was  a  sausage.  Sausages  don't  know 
anything,"  Jim  explained,  a  trifle  impatiently. 

"  About  what  size  would  she  be,  James  Crow  ?  " 
Mr.  Girdwood  respectfully  asked. 

"  Doody,  what  size  was  she?  " 

"  About  four  inches  and  three  quarters." 

"  She  was  about  four  inches  and  three  quarters, 
Mr.  Sammy,  and  she  had  a  little  tweaky  thing  at 
each  end.  For,  you  sec,  she  was  really  turned  into 
a  sausage." 


Jim  Tells  a  Tale  97 

"  'Tis  a  grand  story,  for  sure,"  murmured  the  old 
man,  realizing  that  his  African  Adventures  had  not 
been  so  extravagant  after  all. 

"  And  what  happened  next?  "  said  Daisy. 

"  You  have  a  dreadful  bad  rememory,  Daisy. 
You  couldn't  have  been  listening  the  last  time,  when 
Doody  told  it.  Listen  now !  "  Jim  held  up  a  small 
but  impressive  forefinger.  "  Are  you  listening  ? 
Are  you  paying  great  intention?  " 

"  Yes,  Jim,"  she  said  meekly. 

"  Well,  I'll  tell  you  what  happened  next.  The 
king  sent  for  all  the  wise  old  doodies  in  the  land, 
and  all  the  wise  old  doodies  came.  And  some  of 
them  had  magic.  Then  the  king  said:  'If  you 
don't  turn  this  sausage  into  my  little  girl  in  three 
days,  you'll  get  your  heads  cut  off/  So  the  wise 
old  doodies  tried  very,  very  hard  for  three  days, 
but  they  couldn't  turn  the  sausage  into  a  little  girl 
—  they  couldn't  even  turn  it  into  a  baby.  And  they 
went  to  the  king  and  said  they  were  awful  sorry 
they  couldn't  do  anything,  but  it  was  the  first  time 
they  had  ever  found  anything  too  difficult  for  them, 
and  they  hoped  the  king  wouldn't  cut  off  their  heads, 
'cause  their  heads  were  so  full  of  wiseness,  and  they 
didn't  really  know  what  they  would  do  without 
them. 

"  So  the  king  thought  for  a  long  time  and  said : 
'  Very  well,  I  shan't  cut  off  your  heads ;  I'll  just  cut 


98  Jim 

off  your  bodies.  Good-morning.'  And  they  said 
—  Doody,  what  did  they  say  ?  " 

"Who?" 

"  The  old  doodies  —  when  the  king  said  he  would 
just  cut  off  their  bodies." 

"  Oh,  they  merely  said :  '  Thank  you  very  much, 
your  good  gracious  majesty ;  fare  thee  pump  ' —  and 
passed  out." 

"  Yes ;  that's  what  they  said,  and  '  fare  thee 
pump  '  means  *  good-bye/  Mr.  Sammy." 

"  And  what  happened  next  ?  "  Daisy  inquired. 

"  I'm  going  to  tell  you.  But  before  it  happened 
the  king  and  queen  were  in  a  fearful  state.  The 
king  was  so  sorry  he  had  been  cross,  and  the  queen 
was  so  sorry  she  had  made  him  cross  with  spending 
too  many  pennies ;  and  she  said  it  was  all  her  fault, 
but  the  king  said  it  was  all  his.  And  then  they 
kissed  each  other  and  said  it  was  all  the  dress- 
maker's fault  And  they  sent  people  to  the  dress- 
maker to  dress  her  in  one  of  her  own  dresses;  and 
when  she  was  dressed  she  couldn't  walk,  and  she 
couldn't  sit  down,  and  when  she  fell  she  couldn't 
get  up.  And  so  she  had  to  roll  about  like  a  sausage, 
too.  And  the  queen  said  she  could  whistle  for  her 
'candalous  old  account.  And  ever  since  the  dress- 
maker has  been  trying  to  learn  to  whistle;  but  she 
can't  do  it,  and  Doody  thinks  she  never  will,  'cause 


Jim  Tells  a  Tale 


she  hasn't  the  face.  So  she  just  rolls  about  and  eats 
pins." 

"  Preserve  us !  "  ejaculated  Mr.  Girdwood. 

"  Hush !  "  said  Jim,  forefinger  up  again.  "  And 
so  the  poor  king  and  queen  didn't  know  what  to  do 
about  their  little  sausage  girl.  You  see,  she 
couldn't  do  anything.  She  couldn't  eat,  and  she 
couldn't  go  to  school  or  have  music  lessons,  and 
she  couldn't  play  any  games.  She  couldn't  do  any- 
thing at  all." 

"Had  she  any  clothes?"     This  from  Daisy. 

"  No ;  'cause,  you  see,  the  queen  didn't  know 
which  end  to  put  them  on  at ;  and,  'sides,  the  things 
would  slip  off  as  soon  as  they  was  put  on.  So  the 
king  and  queen  bought  a  beautiful  little  meat-safe 
all  painted  green  and  a  dozen  —  Doody,  a  dozen 
what?" 

"  Muffin  dishes,"  replied  Nevis,  who  happened  to 
be  listening  at  the  moment. 

"A  dozen  beautiful  muffin-dishes  —  that  was  it. 
And  the  little  sausage-girl  lived  in  the  meat-safe 
and  got  a  clean  plate  to  lie  on  every  two  hours,  with 
fresh  parsley  all  round  her " 

"  It  must  have  been  awful  cold,"  said  Daisy. 

"  She  pifered  it  cold.  Once,  when  it  was  winter, 
the  nurse  gave  her  a  hot  dish,  and  she  —  she  pre- 
spired  awful  —  didn't  she,  Doody?  " 


ioo  Jim 

"  You  might  leave  that  bit  out,  Jim  Crow,"  said 
Nevis. 

"Why,  Doody?" 

"  To  oblige  me.  It  isn't  so  nice  as  I  thought  it 
was." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Jim  agreeably.  "  And  so,"  he 
resumed,  "  the  nurse  got  beans,  and  very  nearly  got 
her  head  cut  off,  too,  and  the  king  and  queen  hated 
the  sight  of  gravy  ever  after.  And  every  day  they 
brought  handsome  princes  to  the  meat-safe,  and 
opened  the  door,  and  let  them  look  at  the  sausage. 
But  none  of  the  handsome  princes  ever  wanted  to 
kiss  it,  'cause,  you  see,  princes  don't  care  for 
sausages.  They  think  sausages  are  —  Doody,  what 
do  they  think  sausages  are  ?  " 

"Vulgar.  But  just  tell  the  story  in  your  own 
words,  old  Crow." 

"  So  I  do,  but  sometimes  I  forget.  .  .  .  And 
so  the  king  and  queen  were  very  mis'rable,  for  they 
thought  their  little  girl  would  have  to  be  a  sausage 
always  and  always.  And  the  handsome  princes 
just  sniffed  and  went  away.  What  comes  next, 
Doody?" 

"  And  ten  long  years  went  slowly  past,"  said 
Nevis  solemnly. 

"  Didn't  she  grow  any  bigger  ?  "  inquired  Daisy, 
wide  of  eye. 

"  'Course  not !     Sausages  don't  grow !     And  ten 


Jim  Tells  a  Tale  101 

long  years  went  slowly  past,"  Jim  quoted,  and  looked 
to  his  father  for  guidance. 

"  Now,"  said  Nevis,  "  you  tell  how  on  fine 
days " 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  remember  now,  Doody.  .  «  . 
Listen !  On  fine  days  the  king  and  queen  took  her 
out  to  get  some  fresh  air.  She  couldn't  walk,  you 
know ;  but  she  could  roll  splendidly.  And  there  was 
a  lovely  smooth,  green  hill  near  the  palace,  and  they 
carried  her  up  to  the  top  and  she  rolled  down  to  the 
bottom.  But  before  they  took  her  out  of  the  palace, 
they  always  fired  guns  and  rockets  and  banged 
gongs  and  blew  whistles  and  trumpets,  and  all  the 
people  round  about  had  to  keep  their  bow-wows  and 
pussy-cats  locked  up  in  their  houses." 

"  Deed,  ay !  "  said  Mr.  Girdwood,  with  a  chuckle ; 
"  the  dogs  an*  cats  would  ha'  made  short  work  o* 
a  sassige ! " 

"  But  it's  nothing  to  laugh  at,  Mr.  Sammy,"  Jim 
returned  reprovingly.  "  Please  pay  great  intention, 
'cause  I'm  coming  to  the  exciting  part.  Well,  one 
day  —  one  fine  day  —  the  king  and  queen  carried  the 
little  sausage  girl  to  the  top  of  the  hill.  And  the 
king  cried :  *  One,  two,  three  and  away ! ' —  and  the 
little  sausage  girl  began  to  roll  down.  And  she 
rolled  and  she  rolled  and  she  rolled;  and  the  queen 
clapped  her  hands  and  cried :  '  Faster,  darling, 
faster ! '  And  the  king  and  queen  laughed,  'cause 


IO2  Jim 

their  little  sausage  girl  looked  so  happy  when  she  was 
rolling.  But  all  at  once  they  stopped  laughing,  for 
what  did  they  see  coming  up  the  hill  " —  Jim's  finger 
went  up  and  his  gaze  grew  very  grave  — "  what  did 
they  see,  but  a  great,  big,  huge,  brown  bow-wow! 
And  then  the  queen  cried,  *  Help !  fire !  robbers ! ' 
and  the  king  cried :  '  Bad  dog !  Go  home,  sir ! ' 
But  the  bow-wow  only  said  '  Bowf ! '  and  ran  to 
meet  the  little  sausage  girl.  And  the  little  sausage 
girl  rolled  to  meet  the  bow-wow.  And  the  king 
and  queen  began  to  run,  but  the  king  tripped  on 
his  watch-chain,  and  the  queen's  dress  was  too  tight, 
and  they  both  fell  and  rolled  and  rolled  and  rolled. 
And  the  king  cried :  '  Good  dog !  Poor  fellow ! 
Biscuits,  biscuits ! '  and  the  queen  cried  *  Rats  and 
mice ! ' —  but  the  bow-wow  said  nothing  but 
'Bowf!'  and  ran  to  meet  the  little  sausage  girl. 
And  the  little  sausage  girl  rolled  to  meet  the  bow- 
wow; and  she  rolled  far  faster  than  the  king  and 
queen.  What  next,  Doody?" 

"  Then  the  king  and  queen  bumped " 

"  Oh,  yes !  —  The  king  and  queen  bumped  to- 
gether with  their  heads,  and  stopped  rolling  and 
sat  up  and  rubbed,  their  heads.  And  then  they  saw 
their  little  sausage  girl  in  the  bow-wow's  paws. 
And  they  cried  '  Caesar,  Tiger,  Pompom,  Fido ! ' 
and  all  sorts  of  names,  but  the  bow-wow  said  noth- 
ing but  *  Bowf! '  and  put  down  his  nose  to  the  little 


Jim  Tells  a  Tale  103 

sausage  girl.  And  lo !  and  behold !  the  little  sausage 
girl  jumped  out  of  her  skin  and  became  a  beautiful 
princess  with  golden  hair,  and  the  brown  bow-wow 
jumped  out  of  his  skin  and  became  a  handsome 
prince,  and  they  were  married  and  lived  happy  ever 
after.  And  that's  all  the  story.  Now  let's  play 
at  it." 


THE  PORTRAIT  IS  FINISHED 


MR.  GIRDWOOD'S  portrait  was  finished  at  last, 
and  the  old  man  had  come  to  view  it.  He  sat  on 
the  chair  placed  for  him  by  Nevis,  who  stood  be- 
hind him.  He  held  Jim's  hand.  He  smiled  and 
made  clicking  sounds  with  his  tongue,  but  uttered 
no  word.  It  was  a  good  portrait:  better,  perhaps, 
than  the  artist  realised  then ;  yet  it  was  also  a  good 
picture,  if  only  for  the  retrospection  in  the  old  eyes 
and  the  hint  of  wistfulness  at  the  old  mouth. 

It  was  Jim  who  broke  the  silence,  giving  the  an- 
cient hand  a  little  shake  as  if  to  rouse  the  owner  to 
speech. 

"  Mr.  Sammy,  doesn't  Doody  paint  splendid 
whiskers  ?  " 

"  To  be  sure,  James  Crow,  to  be  sure,"  Mr.  Gird- 
wood  slowly  and  gravely  replied,  and  returned  to 
his  gazing  and  clicking. 

"And  look  at  the  smoke  coming  out  of  the 
chimney,"  the  boy  continued.  "  Smoke's  fearful 
difficult  to  paint,  Mr.  Sammy.  And  see  the  pipe  in 
your  hand ;  Doody  put  it  in  afterwards  —  for  a 
siprise.  And  he  put  the  newspaper  on  the  seat  for 

104 


"The  Portrait  is  Finished"          105 

a  siprise,  too.  You  like  having  it  there,  Mr.  Sammy 
—  don't  you?" 

Nevis  interposed.  "  I  think,  Jim  Crow,  Mr. 
Girdwood  would  take  a  smoke  now.  He'll  tell  you 
what  he  likes  and  doesn't  like  about  the  portrait 
presently.  You  might  fetch  my  tobacco  pouch.  I 
must  have  left  it  in  the  garden." 

"All  right,  Doody;  I'll  fetch  it."  Half-way  to 
the  door  Jim  halted  and  returned.  "  Doody,  I  want 
to  whisper." 

"What  is  it,  old  chap?"  said  Nevis,  bending 
down. 

"  Don't  let  Mr.  Sammy  say  nothing  till  I  come 
back." 

Nevis  nodded  reassuringly,  and  the  boy  ran  off. 
Mr.  Girdwood  continued  to  click  contentedly. 
Nevis  watched  him  with  a  faint  smile,  then  sud- 
denly with  keen  interest.  The  pose  of  the  old  head 
and  shoulders.  .  .  .  Jim's  sketching-block  was 
lying  on  the  table.  Picking  it  up  Nevis  hastily 
pencilled  a  rough  impression  —  a  mere  memoran- 
dum, as  it  were.  "  I  wonder,"  he  said  to  himself, 
"  why  I  never  tried  this  sort  of  thing  before." 

Then  Jim  reappeared  with  the  pouch. 

"  Better  have  a  smoke,  Mr.  Girdwood,"  said  the 
artist.  "  Hand  him  the  tobacco,  Jim." 

"  Smoke,  Mr.  Sammy,"  said  Jim  encouragingly. 

"  Thank  ye,  James  Crow,  thank  ye."     Mr.  Gird- 


106  Jim 

wood  took  the  pouch,  but  made  no  move  to  get  out 
his  pipe. 

Several  minutes  went  past.  From  regarding  his 
aged  friend  with  curiosity  Jim  fell  to  eyeing  him 
with  perplexity.  Presently  he  took  a  glance  at  his 
father.  Nevis  was  gazing  at  the  old  man  with  (it 
seemed  to  his  son)  a  worried  look. 

Jim  went  softly  from  Mr.  Gird  wood's  side  and 
slipped  his  hand  into  his  father's.  It  was  as  if  he 
had  said :  "  Never  mind,  Doody.  We  know  it's 
good." 

Nevis  seated  himself  on  the  sofa  and  drew  the 
boy  between  his  knees.  "  Mr.  Girdwood  is  a  critic 
just  now,"  he  said  in  an  undertone,  smiling,  "  and 
we  must  never  disturb  critics,  you  know." 

"  I  see,  Doody,"  said  Jim,  not  quite  comprehend- 
ing the  words,  but  reassured  by  the  smile.  "  Do 
crit  —  critics  always  tick  like  clocks  ?  "  he  whis- 
pered. 

"  Not  always,  Jim  Crow.  But  you  never  know 
when  they'll  strike.  Look  here!  Do  you  know 
who  that  is  ?  "  Nevis  exhibited  the  rough  sketch 
he  had  done  in  the  boy's  absence. 

"  A  fun-doody,"  was  the  prompt  reply.  "  Did 
you  do  it  for  me  with  your  eyes  shut  ?  " 

Nevis  laughed  and  pocketed  the  sketch. 

"  I  think,"  remarked  his  son,  "  I  could  do  a 
funnier  one." 


"The  Portrait  is  Finished"          107 

"  Try,"  said  Nevis,  handing  him  block  and  pencil, 
and  for  a  little  while  Jim  forgot  about  critics. 

At  last  Nevis,  who  was  eager  to  get  back  to  a 
canvas  he  had  been  engaged  on  in  the  garden  prior 
to  the  old  man's  arrival,  said  in  his  mildest  voice  — 

"  Mr.  Girdwood,  I'm  sending  your  portrait  to 
Glasgow  to-morrow,  as  I'm  anxious  to  have  a 
friend's  opinion  of  it." 

Mr.  Girdwood  appeared  to  waken  up. 

"  Aw,"  he  said,  and  scratched  his  head.  "  But, 
sir,  yer  frien'  has  never  seen  me.  Excuse  me  for 
sayin'  it,  but  how  can ?  " 

"  Of  course  my  friend  can't  tell  whether  it's  a 
good  likeness  or  not,  but  he  knows  good  painting 
from  bad." 

"  Aw/'  said  Mr.  Girdwood  again.  "  Ye'll  excuse 
me,  but  —  but  d'ye  think  ye'll  maybe  get  a  hunderd 
pound  for  the  picture?  " 

Nevis  laughed.  "  Well,  I  have  my  doubts,"  he 
returned  good-humouredly.  "  As  I  told  you  before, 
portrait  painting  is  hardly  in  my  line." 

"  Aw,"  said  Mr.  Girdwood  once  more. 

"  I  'spect  Doody  will  get  a  hundred  pounds,"  Jim 
put  in. 

"  I  was  going  to  say,"  the  artist  continued,  "  that 
you  might  like  Miss  Girdwood  to  see  it  before  I 
pack  it  up.  If  she  cares  to  come  up " 

"  Na,"  said  Mr.  Girdwood  firmly. 


io8  Jim 

"  You  think  she  wouldn't  like  it  ?  "  asked  Nevis, 
taken  aback. 

"  Mrs.  Sammy  would  love  to  see  it,"  said  Jim, 
half  puzzled,  half  indignant.  "  She's  been  weary- 
ing to  see  it.  She  told  me." 

"  I  dare  say  she  would  like  fine  to  see  it,  James 
Crow,"  Mr.  Girdwood  replied,  the  least  thing  stiffly. 
"  But  'twill  be  better  for  her  not  to  see  it." 

"  I  don't  think  that's  very  nice,"  said  Jim. 

At  this  little  reproof  Mr.  Girdwood  looked  dis- 
tressed, but  said  nothing. 

"What  do  you  think  of  the  portrait  yourself?  " 
Nevis  inquired,  endeavouring  to  conceal  his  annoy- 
ance. 

"  If  ye  please,  sir,  I'm  just  in  the  midst  o'  lookin' 
at  it,"  the  old  man  replied  in  a  curiously  pathetic 
tone. 

The  artist's  irritation  departed. 

"  Come  along,  Jim,"  he  said  briskly.  "  We'll  go 
out  to  the  garden,  and  leave  Mr.  Girdwood  to  ex- 
amine his  portrait  in  peace.  Fill  your  pipe,  Mr. 
Girdwood,  and  take  as  long  as  you  like.  There's 
no  hurry.  When  you've  had  enough  of  the  portrait 
you'll  find  us  outside." 

"  Thank  ye,  thank  ye,"  the  other  murmured, 
and  Jim  went  with  his  father,  but  not  quite  willingly. 

"  Do  you  think  Mr.  Sammy  has  got  a  pain?  "  the 
boy  inquired  the  moment  the  door  was  shut. 


"The  Portrait  is  Finished"          109 

"  Possibly  his  rheumatism  is  bothering  him  to- 
day. Come  along,  and  let  me  see  the  new  house 
you've  built  for  Miss  Mousie  in  the  garden." 

"  It's  not  finished  yet,  Doody.  The  drains  aren't 
made  yet." 

"  But  surely  Miss  Mousie  won't  like  living  in  the 
house  before  the  drainage  is  right." 

"Oh,  yes;  she  pifers  it  So  does  Mr.  Frog- 
gie." 

"  I'm  glad  to  hear  it.  By  the  way,  what  has  come 
over  Daisy  this  morning  ?  " 

Jim  squeezed  his  father's  hand  in  a  confidential 
fashion.  "  I  told  her  not  to  come  till  the  afternoon, 
'cause,  you  see,  I  thought  you  would  be  wanting  to 
play  with  me  this  morning." 

"  Oh,"  said  Nevis,  glancing  at  the  unfinished 
work  on  his  easel. 

"  Come  and  help  me  to  make  drains,"  urged  Jim, 
pointing  to  a  wondrous  erection  of  sticks,  stones  and 
soil  in  a  corner  of  the  garden. 

"  Do  you  think  I  can  afford  the  time  to  make 
drains  this  morning,  old  chap?  You  see,  I  don't  get 
any  pennies  for  making  drains,  and  you  know  we 
want  to  make  as  many  pennies  as  we  can  before 
mother  comes  home." 

"  I  think  mother  would  like  you  to  make  drains 
too  —  just  for  a  little  while,  Doody,"  the  boy  said 
softly. 


no  Jim 

"  I  shouldn't  wonder,"  yielded  Nevis.  "  All 
right,  I'm  at  your  service  for  half-an-hour." 

"  Come  on,  then ! "  cried  Jim  delightedly,  and 
added :  "  If  you  would  like  to  be  excited,  we  can 
have  an  earthquake  afterwards." 

"  But  what  would  Miss  Mousie  say  to  that?  " 

"  Oh,  she  simply  loves  earthquakes.  So  does  Mr. 
Froggie.  Let's  run,  Doody !  " 

Presently  they  were  very  busy  indeed. 

"  You  must  show  Mr.  Sammy  this  wonderful 
house,"  Nevis  remarked  when  the  drains,  consisting 
of  disused  lemonade  bottles  and  jelly  jars  were  — 
in  Jim's  opinion  —  well  and  truly  laid. 

"  I  'spect  he'll  like  it.  I'm  going  to  build  one  in 
his  garden  some  day.  Shall  I  call  him  to  come 
now?" 

"No,  no;  leave  him  alone  a  little  while  longer." 

"All  right,  Doody.  But  you're  not  going  to 
paint  yet?  " 

"  Not  just  yet.  We'll  take  a  walk  round  and  see 
the  flowers  growing." 

"  Yes !  .  .  .  D'you  know,  Doody,  I  think  I 
know  why  Mr.  Sammy  was  cross !  " 

"Why,  Jim  Crow?" 

"  'Cause  he  doesn't  want  the  picture  to  go  away." 

"  Perhaps  you're  right.  But,  you  remember,  he 
didn't  want  Mrs.  Sammy  to  see  it." 

"  I  suspose  he  didn't  want  her  to  be  sorry  too. 


"The  Portrait  is  Finished"  in 

But  p'r'aps  not;  p'r'aps  he  was  afraid  she  would 
want  a  picture  of  herself." 

Nevis  smiled.  "  Then  you  think  he  likes  his  por- 
trait?" 

Jim's  face  was  grave.  "  He'd  better !  "  he  said 
distinctly. 

"  Loyal  Jim  Crow !  .  .  .  Well,  if  he  really 
does  like  it,  don't  you  think  we  ought  to  tell  him 
about  the  water-colour  copy  of  his  portrait  for  him- 
self?" 

"  But  then  it  won't  be  a  siprise,"  objected  Jim, 
who  was  a  great  believer  in  surprises. 

"  Still,  though  his  picture  isn't  quite  ready,  he 
would  be  surprised  to  be  told  he  was  going  to  get 
it." 

Jim  nodded.     "  I'll  go  in  and  tell  him  now." 

"  No ;  wait  till  we're  quite  sure  that  he  does  like 
the  portrait,"  said  Nevis.  "  Would  you  mind  if  I 
did  a  little  work  now  ?  " 

"  No.     I'll  come  and  stay  beside  you." 

"  Don't  you  want  to  do  anything?  " 

"  No.     Just  stay  beside  you.     .     .     .     Doody." 

"Yes?" 

"If  you  was  to  make  a  fearful  heap  of  pennies, 
would  it  make  mother  come  home  soon  ?  " 

Nevis  selected  a  brush.  "  I'm  afraid  all  the  pen- 
nies in  the  world  wouldn't  do  that,  old  Crow,"  he 
said  gently.  "  Because,  you  understand,  it's  the  be- 


H2  Jim 

ing  away  with  Aunt  Margaret  that  is  making  mother 
well  and  strong.  Pennies  have  nothing  to  do  with 
that  But  we  must  have  patience.  She'll  be  home 
in  two  months  now." 

"  How  long  is  two  months?  " 

"  Sixty  days." 

"  How  many  days  is  sixty  days  ?  " 

"  You'll  learn  all  that  when  you  go  to  school," 
said  Nevis,  squeezing  a  tube  of  cobalt. 

Jim  sighed.  "  I  don't  think  pennies  are  much 
good  after  all,  Doody." 

"  Not  always.  But  supposing  we  got  a  fearful 
heap  of  pennies,  Jim  Crow " 

"What,  Doody?" 

"  Why,  you  and  I  could  get  on  board  a  big 
steamer  and  sail  away  to  meet  mother  and  bring  her 
home." 

"  Oh !     .     .     .     wouldn't  my  savings  help  ?  " 

Just  then  Mr.  Girdwood  came  slowly  from  the 
house.  His  gait  and  appearance  suggested  pro- 
found dejection. 

"  Shall  I  tell  him  now  ?  "  whispered  Jim. 

"  Not  yet."  Nevis  waved  his  brush.  "  Come 
away  and  sit  down,  Mr.  Girdwood.  I  don't  want 
you  to  talk  about  the  picture  unless  you  feel  dis- 
posed; but  I  do  want  you  to  tell  me  what  I'm  to 
call  it.  Would  you  prefer  '  Samuel  Girdwood  — 


"The  Portrait  is  Finished"          113 

Oldest  Inhabitant,'  or  simply  '  The  Oldest  Inhabi- 
tant'?" 

Mr.  Girdwood  seated  himself  on  the  grassy  bank 
near  by  and  bowed  his  head.  "  "Pis  a  fine  picture," 
he  murmured. 

"  But  what  about  the  title?  " 

"  'Tis  a  great  honour  —  a  great  honour,  to  be 
sure,"  said  the  old  man  sorrowfully. 

"  You  would  like  your  name  in  the  title,  then?  " 

Mr.  Girdwood  sighed.  "  'Twould  be  a  fine  thing 
to  ha'  my  name  away  out  in  the  world  yonder  —  a 
great  honour,  surely." 

"  Very  well,  thank  you.  The  portrait  is  called 
'  Samuel  Girdwood  —  Oldest  Inhabitant/  ' 

"  Thank  ye,  thank  ye." 

"  And  if  I  get  a  hundred  pounds  for  it,  I'll  let 
you  know." 

"  Thank  ye,  thank  ye.  ...  But  I  doubt  none 
o'  the  folk  in  Clure  Bay'd  believe  me  — •  unless  I  was 
to  show  them  yer  letter,  sir." 

"  You  would  be  welcome  to  show  them  my  letter," 
said  Nevis  pleasantly.  "  I  only  hope  I  may  have 
reason  to  write  it." 

"  I'll  write  you  a  Froggie  letter,  Mr.  Sammy," 
said  Jim  kindly. 

"  Thank  ye,  James  Crow.  But  I  was  meanin', 
sir,  that  none  o'  the  folk  would  believe  my  portrait 


H4  Jim 

was  worth  a  hunderd  pound,  unless  I  could  prove 
it." 

"  I  quite  understand,  Mr.  Girdwood,  though  I 
think  you  are  too  modest.  Now,  tell  me,  haven't 
you  changed  your  mind  about  letting  your  sister  see 
the  portrait  before  it  goes  to  Glasgow?  " 

Mr.  Girdwood  shook  his  head.  "  'Twill  be  best 
for  her  not  to  see  it.  But  " —  he  went  on  rather  hur- 
riedly — "  I'm  terrible  obliged  to  ye,  sir,  for  pentin' 
it.  Tis  a  fine  pictur',  to  be  sure."  He  cleared  his 
throat.  "  I  noticed  ye  had  mended  the  bit  pane  that 
was  cracked  in  the  kitchen  window.  'Tis  wonder- 
ful, an'  I'm  terrible  obliged  —  terrible  obliged.  I 
knowed  everything  in  the  picture — 'cept  the  bit 
pane."  He  groaned  and  relapsed  into  gloomy  si- 
lence. 

Nevis  nodded  to  his  son  and  then  at  the  bent  fig- 
ure. 

Jim  got  up  eagerly  and  laid  a  hand  on  Mr.  Gird- 
wood's  arm. 

"  Do  you  know,  Mr.  Sammy,  Doody  has  nearly 
finished  another  picture  with  water-colours,  and  it's 
the  same  as  your  portrait,  and  it's  for  your  very 
own  self.  Doody  was  going  to  give  you  it  for  a 
siprise  for  being  so  kind  to  me,  but  p'r'aps  it's  a 
siprise  to  hear  about  it.  Is  it  ?  " 

It  was. 

At  last  — "  'Tis  far  too  kind  ye  are  —  you,  James 


"The  Portrait  is  Finished"          115 

Crow,  an'  yer  doody  —  far  too  kind  —  far  too  kind. 
An'  Elizabeth'll  be  that  proud." 

And  a  little  later  — "  Maybe,  after  all,  'twouldna 
hurt  Elizabeth  to  see  the  one  ye're  sendin'  away. 
I'll  fetch  her  to  see  it,  sir,  afore  ye  pack  it  up,  if  ye 
please,  sir.  Maybe  I'll  fetch  two  or  three  o'  the 
neighbours  likewise.  Tis  a  great  honour,  to  be 
sure."  He  rose  in  haste.  "  I'll  best  away  an'  tell 
Elizabeth  to  get  hersel'  dressed." 

They  watched  him  depart  with  astonishing  light- 
ness of  step. 

"  I'm  awfully  hungry,  Doody,"  said  Jim. 

"  We  must  put  that  right  at  once,"  said  Nevis, 
getting  up.  "  I  hope  Mr.  Sammy  doesn't  bring 
along  the  whole  population  this  afternoon." 

Mr.  Girdwood  did  not  go  quite  so  far  as  that. 
He  allowed  the  babies,  a  few  mothers,  and  a  man 
with  a  broken  leg  to  stay  at  home. 


THE    DEPARTURE    OF    DAISY 


"  I'M  going  away  to-morrow." 

Daisy  sitting  on  the  grass,  her  doll  Eva  in  one 
arm  and  Miss  Busted  Tewken  in  the  other,  made 
the  announcement  to  the  seat  of  Jim's  little  white 
pants. 

Jim  was  extremely  busy.  Miss  Mousie  and  Mr. 
Froggie  were  expecting  some  children  shortly  — 
per  Dr.  Goose  —  and  it  had  become  necessary  to 
add  a  storey  to  the  garden  residence.  During  the 
morning  hours  Daisy  had  been  a  willing  assistant, 
and  Jim  had  been  too  polite  to  inform  her  that  she 
knocked  down  more  than  she  built  up;  but  he  had 
been  relieved  when  she  had  departed  to  her  aunt's 
for  dinner.  She  had  no  head  for  building,  and, 
moreover,  she  had  hurt  his  feelings  by  declining 
to  see  in  an  old  broken  bicycle  lamp,  which  he  greatly 
prized,  a  handsome  gas  stove  for  Miss  Mousie's 
kitchen.  Now  that  she  had  unexpectedly  returned, 
he  hoped  she  would  not  want  to  help  in  any  way; 
and  while  his  little  grudge  against  her  was  as  good 
as  forgotten,  he  continued  to  labour  earnestly  and 

116 


The  Departure  of  Daisy  117 

industriously  as  if  to  show  her  that  he  desired  to  be 
independent  in  his  task. 

"  I'm  going  away  to-morrow,  Jim  Crow,"  she  said 
again. 

"  Oh,  are  you,  Daisy  ?  "  His  attention  was  all 
on  a  fragment  of  slate  in  his  left  hand. 

"  Yes ;  I'm  going  home.  Auntie  had  a  letter  at 
dinner-time.  I'm  going  with  the  first  train  to-mor- 
row morning." 

"  Oh,  are  you  ?  "  Jim  began  to  scrape  the  slate 
with  a  palette-knife  recently  borrowed  from  his 
father,  with  the  absent-minded  permission  of  the 
latter.  "  I'm  afraid  I  shan't  have  Miss  Mousie's 
house  ready  for  you  to  see." 

"  I've  got  a  new  little  sister,"  said  Daisy.  "  I'm 
going  home  to  see  her." 

"Are  you?  I  haven't  got  the  roof  finished  yet, 
and  then  I've  got  to  make  the  bath-room.  It's  go- 
ing to  be  a  splendid  bath-room,  with  a  water  bath 
for  Miss  Mousie  and  a  mud  one  for  Mr.  Froggie. 
Miss  Mousie's  is  to  be  very  long  'cause  of  her  tail, 
and  Mr.  Froggie's  is  to  be  very  short  'cause  he  has 
no  legs." 

There  was  a  short  pause  while  Jim  fitted  the  slate 
in  position. 

"  My  new  little  sister,"  said  Daisy,  "  is  very,  very 
beautiful,  and  she  is  so  good;  she  hardly  ever  cries. 


n8  Jim 

She  is  going  to  have  the  loveliest  fair  hair  —  like 
Eva's." 

"  Miss  Mousie's  children  are  going  to  have  brown 
hair.  .  .  .  Did  Dr.  Goose  bring  your  new  little 
sister  ?  "  The  inquiry  was  made  with  a  faint  in- 
crease of  interest. 

"Of  course  not!"  Daisy  returned  indignantly. 
"  Dr.  Tobin  brought  her." 

"  Miss  Mousie  pifers  Dr.  Goose.  So  does  Mr. 
Froggie.  So  do  I,"  said  Jim  equably,  and  pro- 
ceeded to  select  another  fragment  of  slate. 

"  Dr.  Tobin  brought  my  new  little  sister  from 
away  up  in  the  skies." 

"  Has  he  wings  like  Dr.  Goose?  " 

"  I  don't  believe  there's  any  Dr.  Goose ! "  cried 
Daisy. 

Jim  was  not  disturbed.  "  You  believe  awful  few 
things,"  he  said  placidly;  "  I  suspose  you  can't  help 
it" 

"  But  you've  never  seen  Dr.  Goose." 

"  That's  'cause  he's  un  —  unvisible.  You've 
never  seen  Dr.  Toby  flying  about  in  the  skies  — 
have  you  ?  " 

"  N  —  no,"  sighed  Daisy  reluctantly.  "  But  his 
name  isn't  Toby,"  she  added,  as  though  that  made 
a  difference;  "it's  Tobin." 

"  Toby  is  much  nicer." 

"It  isn't!" 


The  Departure  of  Daisy  119 

Jim  gave  her  a  brief  glance.  "  What  makes  you 
so  cross?"  he  mildly  asked.  "Have  you  got  a 
pain?" 

"You're  a  rude  thing!"  murmured  Daisy,  and 
blushed  behind  Miss  Busted  Tewken. 

Possibly  Jim  missed  the  remark.  He  had  re- 
turned to  his  housebuilding,  and  for  some  minutes 
there  was  silence. 

Then  — "  My  new  little  sister  is  very  healthy," 
Daisy  observed.  "  The  nurse  says  she  never  saw  a 
finer,  healthier  child.  I  hope  mummy  will  call  her 
Gladys." 

"Why?     'Cause  she's  glad?" 

"  No,  of  course  not.  Gladys  is  a  lovely  name. 
I  wish  I  had  been  called  Gladys." 

"  I  like  Daisy  better,"  said  Jim  carelessly. 

"Do  you  really,  Jim  Crow?" 

"  Yes ;  but  you're  not  very  like  a  daisy." 

There  was  another  silence. 

"  Would  you  like  me  to  help  you?  "  she  inquired. 

Jim  pretended  not  to  hear. 

Daisy  sighed.  "  I  wish  my  new  little  sister  had 
been  a  little  boy,"  she  said  in  a  far  away  voice. 

"  Do  you  ?  You  should  ask  the  doctor  to  change 
her." 

"He  couldn't  do  that!" 

"  Dr.  Goose  could.  He  often  changes  babies  for 
Miss  Mousie.  But  he  nearly  always  brings  what 


I2O  Jim 

she  orders.  She's  having  three  of  each  sort  this 
time." 

"  I  don't  believe "  she  began,  and  stopped 

short.  "  But  I  don't  think  mummy  would  want  to 
change.  Perhaps  I  shan't  either,  when  I  get 
home." 

"  Perhaps  you  won't,"  he  agreed.  "  Now  the 
roof  is  nearly  finished.  Afterwards  I'll  let  you 
make  some  mud  for  Mr.  Froggie's  bath. —  You'll 
like  doing  that  —  won't  you,  Daisy  ?  " 

"  Yes,  thank  you.  But  perhaps  there  won't  be 
time.  I've  got  to  go  home  soon." 

"  Oh,  well,  it  doesn't  matter." 

After  a  pause  — "  I'm  going  away  with  the  'first 
train  to-morrow,"  she  said. 
-"Are  you?" 

"  And  I'm  just  awful  glad !     I  hate  this  place !  " 

"  I  like  it.     Why  do  you  hate  it,  Daisy?  " 

"  I  —  I  don't  know,  but  I  hate  it." 

"  That's  like  me  and  pea-soup.  I  don't  know 
why,  but  I  hate  it  —  I  simply  loase  it !  Do  you  like 
pea-soup  ?  " 

In  a  breaking  voice  she  said :  "  I'm  afraid  I  can 
never  marry  you." 

"  Never  mind,  Daisy.  It  doesn't  matter,"  he  re- 
turned kindly. 

"  But  —  but  you  once  said  you  would  marry  me." 

"  But  I  said  I  would  marry  Mrs.  Sammy  first  — 


The  Departure  of  Daisy  121 

so  it  doesn't  matter  in  the  least  —  it  really; 
doesn't." 

Daisy  made  one  more  effort. 

"  Don't  you  wish  you  had  a  little  sister?  " 

"  Yes,"  he  replied,  putting  the  last  slate  in  its 
place. 

"  Perhaps  you  would  like  me  for  a  little  sister." 

Jim  tapped  the  slate  in  a  professional  manner. 
"  I  think  I'd  pifer  a  small  brother,"  he  said  at  last. 

Whereupon  Miss  Daisy  sobbed  aloud. 

Jim  was  regarding  her  with  utter  bewilderment 
when  his  father  came  from  the  house  bearing  a  treat 
• —  a  dish  of  ripe  pears  —  for  the  children. 

Failing  to  get  any  explanation  from  his  son, 
Nevis  applied  soothing  words  to  Daisy,  who  pres- 
ently poured  forth  her  griefs. 

"  He  doesn't  want  to  marry  me  —  and  he  doesn't 
want  me  for  his  little  sister  —  and  he  doesn't  want 
me  to  help  him — " 

"  Doody,  I  said  she  could  make  mud  for  Mr. 
Froggie's  bath." 

" —  and  I'm  going  away  to-morrow  —  and  I  came 
to  say  good-bye  —  and  I  brought  Miss  B  —  Busted 
Tewken  for  Jim  to  say  good-bye  to  —  and  I  didn't 
want  to  make  mud " 

"  But,  Doody,  she  said " 

"  Hush,  Jim  1  I'm  afraid  you've  been  unkind  to 
Daisy,"  said  Nevis,  a  trifle  sternly. 


122  Jim 

"  Oh,  but  he  didn't  mean  it,  he  didn't  mean  it," 
she  cried  at  once. 

"  Did  you  not  mean  it?  "  Nevis  demanded  of  his 
son. 

"  'Course  not !  "  replied  Jim  promptly.  "  And  I 
don't  know  what  she's  crying  for.  She's  awful 
stupid,  Doody." 

"  Jim !  "  his  father  said  warningly. 

"  I'm  not  stupid !  "  wailed  Daisy,  with  a  fresh 
flow  of  tears.  "  I'm  not  stupid,  Jim.  Say  I'm 
not" 

"  Well,  youTre  not,"  he  admitted,  softening  at  her 
distress. 

"  Then  say  you're  sorry,"  said  Nevis. 

"  But  I'm  not.  .  .  .  But  I'll  give  her  a  kiss, 
if  she  likes,  and  lend  her  my  hanky." 

"  Do  you  wish  him  to  give  you  a  kiss,  my  dear?  " 
asked  Nevis. 

"  Yes,  please  — •  and  his  hanky,  too,"  she  whis- 
pered. 

The  hanky  was  rather  earthy,  but  Daisy  made 
no  objections.  Then  Jim  knelt  down  on  the  grass 
and  kissed  her. 

"  I  think  I'm  sorry,  Doody,"  he  remarked.  "  But 
I  don't  know  what  for.  .  .  .  What  a  nice  smell 
you've  got,  Daisy.  Have  you  been  taking  your 
auntie's  perfume  again  ?  " 

"  It  was  for  Eva,"  she  said  in  an  unsteady  voice. 


The  Departure  of  Daisy  123 

"  And  I  put  some  on  Miss  Busted  Tewken,  too. 
Smell  her!" 

After  the  contact  with  his  old  fluffy  friend  Jim 
looked  grave. 

"  Do  you  think  Miss  Busted  Tewken  wants  to 
go  away  from  here?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  promise  to  be  very  kind  to  her,  Jim  Crow," 
she  replied.  "/  don't  want  to  go  away  now  — 
except  to  see  mummy  and  daddy  and  the  little  new 
sister." 

Jim  made  no  response,  but  continued  to  gaze  at 
Miss  Busted  Tewken  until  Nevis  interposed  with 
the  question  — 

"  Well,  who  says  a  pear  ?  " 

Nevis  found  an  opportunity  of  privately  admon- 
ishing his  son  to  the  effect  that  as  it  was  Daisy's 
last  visit  he  ought  to  be  specially  kind  to  her  and 
do  everything  to  please  her. 

"  All  right,  Doody,"  said  Jim. 

And  ere  long  he  permitted  her  to  build  chimneys 
on  the  Mousie-Froggie  residence,  and  only  kept 
his  mouth  very  tightly  shut  and  his  hands  clenched 
when,  thanks  to  their  deplorable  construction,  the 
chimneys  fell  and  wrecked  most  of  his  day's  work. 

Daisy  was  regretful  enough,  but  blamed  the  mis- 
hap on  the  silly  stones  and  offered  to  build  them  up 
again,  but  Jim  pretended  not  to  hear,  and  turned 


124  Jim 

away  lest  she  should  see  his  face.  To  some  extent 
she  retrieved  her  worth  in  his  opinion  by  discover- 
ing, a  little  later,  a  delightful  patch  of  bluish  clay 
—  a  substance  the  boy  had  been  long  and  eagerly 
seeking;  but  he  would  have  esteemed  her  still  more 
had  she  taken  part  in  the  manipulation  of  the  clay 
into  objects  of  use  and  ornament  for  the  aforesaid 
residence. 

However,  on  the  whole,  the  afternoon  passed 
happily  enough.  Daisy  stayed  to  tea,  and  would 
have  stayed  much  longer  had  not  her  aunt  appeared 
to  take  her  away. 

"  It  seems  cruel  to  part  children  when  they  are 
so  happy  together,"  remarked  Miss  Mingay  to 
Nevis.  "  They  are  just  like  sweethearts,"  she 
added,  with  a  sentimental  smile.  "  I  hope  the  part- 
ing won't  break  their  little  hearts." 

Nevis,  who  had  looked  after  the  children  together 
five  times  for  once  that  Miss  Mingay  had  troubled 
herself  about  them,  echoed  the  hope  the  least  thing 
dryly. 

"  It  is  such  a  pity,"  the  lady  went  on,  "  that  your 
little  boy  has  no  little  playmate.  Does  he  know 
any  little  boys  at  home?  " 

"  Oh,  yes ;  but  when  they  are  not  available,  it  is 
wonderful  how  he  endures  his  parents." 

"  Ah,"  she  murmured,  "  I  have  always  been  a 
great  believer  in  children  mixing  as  much  as  pos- 


The  Departure  of  Daisy  125 

sible  with  other  children  and  not  seeing  too  much 
of  their  parents." 

Nevis  smiled  without  replying. 

Presently  Miss  Mingay  commanded  Daisy  to 
make  her  farewells,  and  after  ten  minutes  or  so 
Daisy,  satisfied  that  she  had  inspected  every  one 
of  Jim's  possessions,  consented  to  go. 

At  the  door  Nevis  kissed  her  and  slipped  a  piece 
of  silver  into  her  hand. 

"  Good-bye,  little  girl,"  he  said  tenderly. 

"Aren't  you  going  to  kiss  Jim?"  inquired  Miss 
Mingay  of  her  niece,  observing  that  the  boy  was 
gazing  solemnly  at  the  latter. 

"  Jim !  "  said  his  father. 

Daisy  approached  boldly,  but  her  lip  trembled. 

"  Kiss  Eva  first,  Jim  Crow,"  she  said. 

"  No,  thank  you.     But  I'll  kiss  you " 

He  kissed  her  once. 

"—  and  Miss  Busted  Tewken." 

He  kissed  her  twice. 

Then  he  clutched  his  father's  hand,  while  Daisy, 
guided  by  her  aunt,  went  weeping  away. 

While  Jim,  a  little  later,  was  being  put  to  bed, 
he  suddenly  threw  his  arms  round  his  father's 
neck. 

"  Oh,  Doody,  it's  so  nice  to  be  alone.  I  don't 
want  nobody  but  you  —  and  Muzzer." 


126  Jim 

Nevis  held  his  son  close.  "  Oh,  Jim  Crow,"  he 
said  to  himself,  "  if  there  was  only  the  slightest 
possibility  of  your  saying  that  —  a  few  years 
hence ! " 


MR.    GIRDWOOD   WINS   A   PRIZE 


"  I  BEST  gang  up  an'  tell  him,"  said  Mr.  Gird- 
wood  suddenly,  turning  from  the  kitchen  window. 
"  I'm  sayin',  I  best  gang  up  an'  tell  Mr.  Nevis." 

"  Tell  him  what?  "  said  Miss  Girdwood,  the  least 
thing  impatiently. 

"  Tell  him  about  that  man  that's  been  pentin'  the 
castel  since  nine  o'clock."  And  Mr.  Girdwood 
took  his  bonnet  from  its  nail. 

"  Mr.  Nevis  isna  heedin'  if  a  score  o'  men  was 
pentin'  the  castel.  He  couldna  stop  them,  any- 
way." 

"  A'  the  same,  I  best  gang  up  an'  tell  him." 

"  Ye  best  bide  where  ye  are,  Samuel.  Ye've 
been  like  a  hen  on  a  het  girdle  since  breakfast- 
time.  Mr.  Nevis'll  never  be  in  the  house  on  a 
fine  day  like  this.  Ye  dinna  ken  where  to  find 
him." 

"  He'll  be  in  the  Magic  Wood.  An'  if  he's  not 
there,  he'll  be  on  the  shore.  I  best  gang  up  an' 
tell  him." 

"  Maybe  he's  not  wantin'  ye."  She  regretted  the 
words  immediately.  For  on  this  occasion  Mr.  Gird- 

127 


128  Jim 

wood  did  not  rudely  order  his  sister  to  "  clay  up." 
Quite  humbly  he  said  — 

"  Maybe  ye' re  right,  Elizabeth."  He  sighed  and 
replaced  his  bonnet  on  the  nail,  and  went  slowly  to 
his  seat  by  the  fireside.  "  "Tis  most  likely  ye're 
right." 

Miss  Gird  wood  paused  in  her  task  of  scrubbing 
the  dresser,  and  regarded  her  brother  with  per- 
plexity. 

"  Is  there  anything  wrong  wi'  ye,  Samuel?  "  she 
asked  at  last.  "  Are  ye  sick  ?  " 

For  an  instant  an  angry  retort  seemed  inevitable. 
Then,  "  Na,  there's  nothin'  wrong  wi'  me,"  he  said 
quietly. 

Her  perplexity  increased.  "  'Tis  a  fine  day,"  she 
said.  "Are  ye  not  for  the  garden?" 

He  got  up,  saying,  "  Ay,  I'll  sit  in  the  garden," 
and  went  out  in  a  listless  fashion. 

Miss  Girdwood  resumed  her  scrubbing,  but  halted 
at  the  end  of  a  couple  of  minutes.  "  What's  ado 
wi'  him?  "  she  asked  herself.  Presently  she  stepped 
over  to  the  door. 

"  Samuel,"  she  said  softly,  "I  —  I  wasna 
meanin'  to  be  cross  wi'  ye." 

"  'Twas  no  matter,"  he  returned ;  "  'twas  no  mat- 
ter at  all,  Elizabeth.  Never  heed  about  me." 

This  humility  was  too  much  for  the  old  woman. 


Mr.  Girdwood  Wins  a  Prize         129 

"  But  I  doubt  there's  something  wrong  wi'  ye, 
Samuel." 

He  took  out  his  pipe,  looked  at  it,  shook  his 
head,  and  replaced  it  in  his  pocket. 

"  An'  I  didna  mean  for  to  keep  ye  from  goin'  to 
see  Mr.  Nevis,  if  yer  heart  was  set  on  it,"  she 
continued.  "  Maybe  the  walk  would  be  good  for 
ye/' 

Unseen  by  her  Mr.  Girdwood  clenched  his  fists. 
"  I  best  bide  where  I  am,"  he  murmured,  and 
groaned. 

She  regarded  him  in  a  stupefied  fashion. 
"  Samuel,  dearie,"  she  said  at  last,  "  I  canna  under- 
stand ye." 

Mr.  Girdwood,  looking  as  if  he  would  burst, 
held  his  peace. 

"  Samuel,  dearie,"  she  ventured  again,  "  I'm 
vexed  I  said  Mr.  Nevis  wouldna  maybe  want  ye, 
for  he's  aye  gled  to  see  ye,  an'  so  is  James  Crow. 
Will  ye  not  tak'  a  walk " 

Mr.  Girdwood  hoisted  a  fist  high  in  air. 
"  Woman,"  he  began  in  a  terrible  voice.  Then  the 
fist  fell  weakly,  and  once  more  he  groaned  and 
gently  sighed.  "  Never  heed  about  me,  Elizabeth, 
never  heed  about  me.  Ye  asked  me  to  bide  here, 
an'  I'm  goin'  to  bide  here.  I  —  I  —  prefer  bidin' 
here.  I'm  sayin'  I  prefer  bidin'  here  to  —  to  please 


130  Jim 

ye.  So  ye  can  gang  back  to  yer  work  in  the 
house." 

"But —  but " 

Mr.  Girdwood's  hands  opened,  then  gripped  the 
edge  of  the  bench  whereon  he  sat.  "  For  any  fa- 
vour," he  said  in  a  strained  and  piteous  voice, 
"gang  into  the  house  an'  let  me  be." 

"But " 

"  Away,  away !  Leave  me  to  my  • —  my  brood- 
in's." 

"  Oh,  Samuel,  I  doubt  —  I  doubt  there's  some- 
thing wrong  wi'  ye.  Would  ye  try  to  swallow 
a » 

Mr.  Girdwood  held  on  to  the  seat  as  though 
some  tremendous  force  threatened  to  draw  him 
into  space.  "  Elizabeth,"  he  said  hoarsely,  "  for 
mercy's  sake  let  me  be ! " 

Miss  Girdwood  looked  altogether  distracted.    She 
opened  her  mouth,  closed  it,  took  a  step  back  from 
the  door,  returned  and  whispered  brokenly  — 
"  Samuel,  dearie,  will  ye  cry  if  ye  want  me?  " 
"Ay,"  he  replied  shortly.     "But  gang!" 
She  went  in  reluctantly  and  closed  the  door. 
Slowly  Mr.  Girdwood's  grip  on  the  bench  re- 
laxed.    He  lay  back  against  the  wall.     He  wiped 
his   brow.     He   drew   several    long   breaths.     He 
folded  his  hands.     And  almost  devoutly  he  mut- 
tered trie  words  — 


Mr.  Girdwood  Wins  a  Prize         131 

"The  Lord  kens  I  deserve  the  prize,  an'  I  wish 
it  was  to-morrow." 

It  was  late  in  September,  but  the  still  afternoon 
was  warm  and  balmy;  the  scents  of  the  garden 
were  heavy  and  soothing.  Presently  the  old 
shaggy  head  drooped,  the  grey  beard  lay  flat  on  the 
shabby  vest.  Mr.  Girdwood  drowsed. 

A  few  minutes  later  Miss  Girdwood  peeped 
stealthily  from  the  kitchen  window.  Her  anxious 
countenance  cleared  somewhat  at  the  sight  of  the 
placid  slumberer.  "  Maybe  he  was  jist  a  wee  bit 
wearit,"  she  said  to  herself,  "  but  I  didna  like  him 
bein'  that  soft-spoken  an'  ready  to  please.  'Twasna 
nateral." 

Nearly  an  hour  passed.  Several  times  the  old 
woman  peeped  out,  but  saw  nothing  to  alarm  her; 
and  on  the  last  occasion  she  smiled,  for  she  per- 
ceived Jim  coming  across  the  meadow.  "  'Twill 
likely  be  all  right  now,"  she  murmured,  and  with- 
drew hopeful. 

At  the  opening  of  the  little  gate  Mr.  Girdwood 
started  and  rubbed  his  eyes. 

"  'Tis  James  Crow !  "  he  exclaimed  in  pleased 
surprise.  "  I  didna  expec'  to  see  ye  the  day,  James 
Crow. —  But  where's  yer  Doody  ?  " 

"  He's  coming  too  —  with  your  portrait  —  but  he 
met  another  artist  doody  in  the  field,  and  they 


132  Jim 

talked,  so  I  just  came  along  myself.  I  suspose 
you've  been  having  a  small  nap,  Mr.  Sammy.  You 
look  very  sleepy." 

"  Aw,  jist  for  about  three  minutes." 

"  Had  you  any  fun-dreams  ?  " 

Mr.  Girdwood  shook  his  head.  He  didn't  feel 
equal  then  to  inventing  any  "  fun-dreams  "  which, 
by  the  way,  had  of  late  taken  the  place  of  African 
Adventures. 

"  I  did  my  best  for  to  dream  them,"  he  said,  "  but 
I  couldna  manage  it.  Maybe  I  wasna  sleepin' 
sound  enough.  But  I  was  terrible  tired." 

Jim  looked  disappointed.  "  What  made  you  tired, 
Mr.  Sammy?" 

"  Strivin'  to  please  ye,  James  Crow.  But  we'll 
not  speak  about  it  till  the  time's  up."  Mr.  Gird- 
wood  sighed.  "  The  time's  not  up  till  the  morn, 
ye  mind."  Then  he  brightened.  "  So  yer  Doody's 
bringin'  the  portrait.  'Tis  terrible  kind  o'  him,  an' 
'tis  a  great  honour —  a  great  honour." 

"  I  think  it  is,"  Jim  assented  frankly.  "  But  I've 
got  the  prize  in  my  pocket,  and  I'm  going  to  give 
it  to  you  now  —  if  you  deserve  it.  Do  you  deserve 
it,  Mr.  Sammy?  "  The  question  was  put  with  much 
solemnity  of  voice  and  countenance. 

"  The  Lord  kens,"  sighed  Mr.  Girdwood,  "  I've 
did  my  best.  'Twas  terrible  severe  on  me,  but  I've 


Mr.  Girdwood  Wins  a  Prize        133 

never  spoke  a  cross  word  to  her  since  I  got  out  my 
bed  at  nine  this  mornin'." 

"  That  was  rather  late,"  said  Jim. 

"  'Twas  all  that,  James  Crow,  but,  ye  see,  it  made 
the  day  shorter." 

"  I  see.  .  .  .  And  you  never  spoke  a  cross 
word  since  then?" 

"  Never  oncet." 

"  Nor  called  her  stupid?  " 

"  Never  oncet." 

"  Nor  told  her  to  clay  up,  Mr.  Sammy  ?  " 

"  'Twas  a  great  wonder  I  didna,  my  lad."  Mr. 
Girdwood's  tone  was  faintly  touched  with  asperity. 

"  Nor  roared  at  her  till  she  thought  you  was 
going  to  bite  her  nose  off?"  inquired  Jim,  with 
more  interest  than  ever. 

"  James  Crow,"  the  old  man  declared,  not  with- 
out emotion,  "  'tis  the  voice  o'  a  mouse  I've  been 
speakin'  wi'  the  day  —  the  voice  o'  a  mouse !  "  A 
happy  thought  struck  him,  and  he  added,  "  Even 
the  voice  o'  yer  frien',  Miss  Mousie  —  exceedin' 
soft  an'  kind  —  not  that  I  can  say  I  ever  heard  her 
speakin'." 

"  I  have,"  said  Jim,  highly  delighted  by  the  refer- 
ence to  his  favourite.  "  I've  heard  her  speaking  to 
Mr.  Froggie.  Sometimes  she  speaks  to  me,  too. 
But  you've  got  to  listen  fearful  hard." 


134 


Mr.  Girdwood  nodded.  "  Same  time,  James 
Crow,"  he  remarked,  "  'twas  terrible  severe  on  me." 

"  I  think,"  said  Jim,  tugging  at  something  in  his 
pocket,  "  I  think,  Mr.  Sammy,  you  deserve  the 
prize." 

Mr.  Girdwood  looked  modestly  gratified.  "  'Tig 
for  you  to  say,  James  Crow,  'tis  for  you  to  say. 
But  the  Lord  kens  -  -" 

"  I'm  going  to  give  you  one  of  my  f  roggies  — 
Mr.  Froggie,  Jenior.  He  has  got  one  leg.  Of 
course  I  couldn't  give  you  Mr.  Froggie,  Sunior, 
'cause  he's  married  to  Miss  Mousie,  and,  'sides,  I 
have  a  great  infection  for  him.  You  didn't  'spect 
I  would  give  you  Mr.  Froggie,  Sunior  —  did  you, 
Mr.  Sammy  ?  " 

"  'Deed,  I  —  I  never  expected  a  frog  at  all  !  " 
said  Mr.  Girdwood,  truthfully  enough.  "  But  d'ye 
not  mean  Junior  an'  Senior?" 

"  Doody  says  Jenior  and  Sunior.  Here  is  Mr. 
Froggie,  Jenior.  Please  take  great  care  of  him, 
'cause  I  'spect  he'll  miss  me  very  much.  I'll  miss 
him.  He  gets  a  water  bath  every  day  and  a  mud 
one  on  Saturdays." 

It  was  not  without  reluctance  that  Jim  laid  the 
xylonite  object  on  the  palm  of  his  ancient  friend. 

"  Aw,  I'll  tak'  great  care  o'  him,  ye  can  count 
on  that,"  said  the  recipient  of  the  prize  gratefully. 
"  An'  'tis  terrible  kind  o'  ye,  James  Crow  -  ~" 


Mr.  Girdwood  Wins  a  Prise         135 

"  And  'tis  a  great  honour,  Mr.  Sammy." 

"  To  be  sure,  to  be  sure !  I'm  real  proud  o'  f e- 
ceivin'  Mr.  Frog,  Junior  —  I  mean  Jenior,  James 
Crow  —  real  proud !  But  " —  the  speaker's  voice 
sank  to  a  confidential  whisper  — "  ye  —  ye'll  not  be 
for  tellin'  Elizabeth  what  I  got  the  prize  for." 

The  boy  did  not  appear  to  comprehend.  He 
asked  several  questions. 

"  'Twill  be  best  for  her  not  to  know,"  said  Mr. 
Girdwood,  rather  at  a  loss.  "  An'  'twill  be  a  fine 
secret  for  you  an'  me." 

The  latter  argument  appealed.  a  All  right,  Mr. 
Sammy,"  said  Jim.  "  I'll  not  tell  her.  But  I  'spect 
she'll  wonder  lots." 

"  'Tis  woman's  business  to  wonder  — •  I  mean  for 
to  say,  'twill  do  her  no  harm  to  wonder.  Same 
time,  would  ye  mind  if  I  said  'twas  a  present  'stead 
o'  a  prize,  James  Crow?" 

Jim  thought  for  a  few  moments.  "  It's  a  pres- 
ent, too,  Mr.  Sammy,  'cause,  you  see,  you  wasn't 
nice  to  Mrs.  Sammy  for  a  whole  day." 

"  The  Lord  preserve  us ! "  murmured  the  old 
man. 

"  So  you  can  tell  her  it's  a  present.  Here's 
Doody  coming  with  your  portrait !  " 

The  hanging  of  the  picture  in  the  parlour  was  a 
ceremony  of  the  briefest,  for  Mr.  Girdwood  had 


136  Jim 

driven  the  nail  for  it  more  than  three  weeks  ago, 
to  be  precise  on  the  day  of  its  being  promised  to 
him.  On  the  contrary,  the  admiration  which  fol- 
lowed the  hanging  was  of  such  long  duration  that 
the  artist  became  extremely  embarrassed  and  his 
son  not  a  little  impatient.  While  remembering  his 
promise  to  the  prize-winner,  Jim  was  yet  anxious 
to  have  some  conversation  with  the  prize-winner's 
sister,  but  it  was  not  until  she  retired  to  the 
kitchen  to  make  tea — >she  would  have  been  sorely 
hurt  had  her  guests  refused  hospitality  then,  and  the 
table  was  already  laid  for  them  —  that  the  boy 
found  his  opportunity.  He  joined  her  in  the 
kitchen,  and  after  a  little  while  said  — 

"  I  suppose  you've  been  very  extra  happy  to-day, 
Mrs.  Sammy." 

"  "Pis  a  great  day,  to  be  sure,"  she  replied,  meas- 
uring the  tea  from  the  caddy.  "  Samuel  an'  me 
are  terrible  proud  o'  the  picture.  Sich  kindness  I 
never  heard  o'." 

"  But  you've  been  very  extra  happy  without  the 
picture,"  said  Jim  after  a  pause. 

She  set  the  pot  on  the  hob  ready  for  the  boiling 
water.  She  sighed. 

"  Samuel  wasna  hissel'  the  day,  dearie,  but 
maybe  he'll  soon  be  better." 

Jim  was  too  puzzled  for  speech.  He  stared  at 
her. 


Mr.  Girdwood  Wins  a  Prize         137 

"  Ye  see,  dearie,"  she  continued,  with  another 
sigh,  "  Samuel's  gettin'  old,  an'  I  was  a  wee  bit 
anxious  about  him  the  day,  for  he  bided  in  his  bed 

till  after  nine,  an'  then  he But  we'll  not 

speak " 

There  was  a  heavy  step  at  the  door  and  the  voice 
of  Mr.  Girdwood  exclaimed  crossly  — 

"  Aw,  woman,  for  any  favour  clay  up ! " 

"  Mr.  Sammy !  "  cried  Jim. 

"  Oh,  me !  I  couldna  help  it,  James  Crow,"  said 
the  old  man  in  dire  confusion,  and  retired  with  all 
the  haste  in  his  power. 

Jim  turned  to  Miss  Girdwood,  and  was  aston- 
ished to  encounter  her  smile. 

"  'Tis  all  right,  dearie,  'tis  all  right,"  she  whis- 
pered. "  He's  hissel'  again,  an'  I'm  terrible  gled. 
But  ye'll  not  tell  him  I  was  sayin'  he  wasna  hissel' 
the  day  —  will  ye  not?  " 

Poor  Jim  Crow  was  fairly  lost  in  the  mystery  of 
it  all,  and  eyed  the  old  woman  in  silence. 

"  Ye'll  not  tell  him  I  was  sayin'  he  wasna  hissel' 
—  will  ye  not  ?  "  she  pleaded. 

"  Very  well,  I'll  not,  Mrs.  Sammy,"  he  promised 
at  last,  much  to  her  satisfaction,  if  not  to  his  own. 
But  he  determined  to  lay  the  whole  matter  before 
his  father  whenever  they  should  be  alone. 

On  quitting  the  cottage,  however,  they  encoun- 
tered the  artist  to  whom  Nevis  had  spoken  earlier 


138  Jim 

in  the  afternoon,  and  when  he  left  them  at  the  door 
of  their  lodgings  Jim  was  sleepy  enough  to  have 
forgotten  his  determination  for  the  time  being,  at 
any  rate.  A  minute  later  he  would  have  forgotten 
it,  however  alert  his  little  brain. 

For  on  the  table  in  the  sitting-room  lay  a  letter, 
which  Nevis  snatched  up  and  tore  open.  And  pres- 
ently Jim,  having  picked  up  the  envelope  from  the 
floor,  heard  his  father  saying  in  rather  a  queer 
voice  — • 

"  Old  Crow,  this  is  good  news." 

"  But  it's  not  from  Muzzer,  Doody,"  said  the 
boy,  who  sometimes  forgot  his  grown-up  pronuncia- 
tions towards  bed-time. 

"  No ;  it's  not  from  Mother,  but  it  means " 

He  broke  off,  seated  himself  on  the  crazy  easy- 
chair  and  drew  the  boy  to  his  knee.  "  Do  you 
know,  Jim  Crow,  that  you're  a  perfect  little  brick?  " 

"Why,  Doody?" 

"  Because  you  made  me  paint  old  Sammy's  por- 
trait." He  cleared  his  throat,  put  his  arm  round 
his  son,  and  continued :  "  This  is  a  letter  from  the 
man  I  sent  the  portrait  to.  He  writes  to  say  that 
he  thinks  it  very  good,  and  that  a  lot  of  other  peo- 
ple think  it  very  good,  and  that  some  of  them  have 
been  wanting  to  buy  it,  and  that  he  has  sold  it  to 
one  of  them  for  —  for  two  hundred  and  fifty 
guineas,  Jim  Crow !  " 


Mr.  Girdwood  Wins  a  Prize        139 

"  How  much  is  that,  Doody  ?  More  than  all  my 
savings?  " 

"  It's  a  great  deal  of  money —  for  us  to  get  for 
a  picture.  But  the  best  of  it  is  that  the  man  says 
I've  found  myself,  and  I  must  go  on  painting  more 
old  doodies.  .  .  .  And  I'd  never  have  thought 
of  it  but  for  you " 

"  And  Mr.  Sammy." 

"  No ;  I'd  never  have  done  it  for  him,  my  boy. 
And  now,  d'you  know  what  you  and  I  are  going 
to  do?" 

"Write  to  Muzzer." 

"  No ;  we're  going  to  cable  to  her  — -  send  her  a 
wire,  you  know;  and  we're  going  to  go  to  her. 
We're  going  to  get  on  board  a  big  steamer  and 
sail  away  to  a  place  called  Capetown,  and  there  we 
shall  meet  her  on  her  voyage  home,  and  we  shall 
all  come  home  together " 

"  Oh,  Doody !  Now?  Shall  I  pack  Miss  Mousie 
and  Mr.  Froggie  ?  " 

"  I  think  we  shall  leave  here  the  day  after  to- 
morrow. We'll  do  our  packing  to-morrow.  It 
will  be  a  busy  day,  so  you  must  have  a  good 
sleep." 

But  they  sat  for  an  hour  or  so  longer,  and  at  the 
last  Nevis  carried  his  boy  to  bed.  When  he  had 
tucked  him  in  finally,  and  was  leaving  the  room 
softly,  a  small  drowsy  voice  said,  "  Doody,  please." 


140  Jim 

"What  is  it,  Jim  Crow?"  asked  Nevis,  return- 
ing. "Aren't  you  very  happy?" 

"  Yes,  Doody.  But  —  if  you  have  any  of  the 
pennies  left,  will  you  buy  me  a  fun-owl  —  like  Mr. 
Sammy's  ?  " 


UNTIL  THE  SPRING 


THE  following  day  was  a  busy  one  for  Nevis, 
but  he  found  time  to  send  a  note  to  the  old  people 
informing  them  of  his  sudden  change  of  plans,  and 
bidding  them  to  five  o'clock  tea.  Jim  insisted  on 
enclosing  a  "  Froggie  letter,"  explaining,  in  hiero- 
glyphics, that  he  also  was  very  busy  indeed. 

"  I  suspose  they'll  be  sorry  we're  going 
away,"  the  boy  remarked,  and  his  father  nodded 
absently. 

"  But  they'll  be  fearful  glad  to  come  to  tea.  I 
hope  Mr.  Sammy  has  been  having  some  more  fun- 
dreams.  He'll  be  fearful  excited  to  hear  we're 
going  to  Africa !  "  Jim  had  been  questioning  his 
father  concerning  the  journey  since  5 130  A.  M. 
"  Do  you  think  we  shall  have  some  adventures, 
Doody?" 

"  I  shouldn't  wonder,  Jim  Crow." 

"  I  shouldn't  wonder,  either,  Doody.  Miss 
Mousie  is  so  excited  about  it!  She  didn't  sleep  a 
wink  all  night." 

"  That's  most  unfortunate.  But  we  must  get  on 
with  our  packing." 

141 


142  Jim 

i 

"  Yes,  we  must,  Doody,"  agreed  Jim,  who  was 
naturally  in  a  high  state  of  happy  enthusiasm. 

And  down  in  the  cottage,  half-an-hour  later,  the 
old  people  sat  regarding  each  other  in  dismay. 

"  But  he  said  they  was  goin'  to  bide  in  the  Bay 
till  the  end  o'  October,"  Mr.  Girdwood  was  mur- 
muring for  the  third  time. 

"  Ay,  Samuel,"  she  returned,  fingering  the  note 
—  Mr.  Girdwood  would  not  let  the  "  Froggie  let- 
ter" out  of  his  possession — "ay,  Samuel.  But  ye 
see  he  didna  ken  he  would  be  goin'  abroad  to  meet 
his  wife.  Tisna  as  if  he  had  tooken  a  scunner  at 
the  place."  With  an  effort  at  cheerfulness  she 
added,  "  'Tis  likely  they'll  come  back  again  some 
day,  Samuel." 

Mr.  Girdwood  groaned  and  shook  his  head. 

"  'Tis  a  judgment  on  me  for  the  falsehoods,"  he 
said. 

"  Havers,  man !  "  she  said  gently. 

"  Can  ye  prove  'tis  not  a  judgment  ?  "  he  de- 
manded. 

"  Aw,  Samuel,  dearie,  is  James  Crow  not  leavin' 
me,  too  ?  An'  how  can  it  be  a  judgment  on  me  that 
never  told  him  a  falsehood  ?  " 

:<  Ye  egged  me  on  —  at  the  beginning  anyway. 
Ye  canna  deny  that." 

After  a  pause  — "  But  James  Crow'll  be  terrible 


Until  the  Spring  143 

gled  to  get  quick  to  his  mother,"  she  ventured. 
"  Ye  vvouldna  grudge " 

He  wagged  his  head.  "  I  tell  ye  'tis  a  judgment," 
he  said  stubbornly.  "  An'  I've  been  gettin'  ready 
a  place  in  the  garden  for  his  Miss  Mousie's  new 
house.  He  was  comin'  the  day  to  start  on  the 
buildin'.  I've  got  some  real  cement  for  him,  an' 
Macfarlane  was  goin'  to  gi'  me  a  score  o'  the  best 
bricks.  An'  I  was  to  help  him." 

"  'Tis  a  great  pity,  surely,  but,  Samuel,  dearie, 
the  cement  an'  the  bricks'll  keep  till  he  comes 
back " 

"  He'll  never  come  back.  I  tell  ye,  James 
Crow'll  never  come  back.  An'  if  he  does  come 
back,  he'll  not  be  the  same  James  Crow.  He'll  ha' 
forgot  his  queer  bit  toys,  an'  he'll  not  be  heedin' 
about  stories  an'  dreams,  an'  he'll  be  done  wi'  the 
Magic  Wood,  an' " 

"  Oh,  Samuel,  dearie,  'twill  be  a  lang  while  afore 
he's  as  big  as  that.  I'm  thinkin'  he'll  aye  be  the 
same  James  Crow  to  you  an'  me.  An'  if  we  canna 
tell  for  sure  what  he'll  be,  we  —  we  ken  what  he's 
been." 

Miss  Girdwood  arose,  smiled  encouragingly  at 
her  brother  and  went  over  to  the  window.  For 
some  minutes  she  gazed  at  the  sunny  meadow  —  the 
meadow  that  had  been  the  same  to  her  for  fifty 


144 


years  —  until  two  months  ago.  She  would  never 
look  upon  it  again,  summer  or  winter,  without  a 
vision  of  a  small,  sturdy,  white-clad  figure  cross- 
ing its  acres.  She  wiped  her  eyes  with  her  apron, 
furtively,  remained  for  a  minute  longer,  and  then 
turned  a  brave  countenance  to  the  old  man. 

"  I  best  be  gettin'  yer  things  ready  for  the  tea- 
party,  Samuel,"  she  said,  as  she  left  the  kitchen. 

Mr.  Girdwood  said  nothing,  nor  did  he  raise  his 
eyes  from  the  "  Froggie  letter." 

But  almost  immediately  she  returned. 

"  Samuel,  here  a  minute." 

"  What's  ado  ?  "  he  asked  moodily. 

"  Come  ben  to  the  parlour." 

He  followed  her  slowly,  unwillingly. 

She  pointed  to  the  stuffed  owl. 

"  Would  ye  not  be  thinkin'  o'  givin'  it  to  James 
Crow?"  she  said  softly. 

His  face  brightened  a  shade  —  and  gloomed 
again. 

"  'Tis  your  owl,  Elizabeth." 

"  'Tis  yours  now,  Samuel." 

Mr.  Girdwood  considered.  "  Ye'll  not  be  tellin' 
him  'twas  a  present  from  yersel'  ?  " 

"'Twill  be  a  present  from  you,  Samuel  —  jist 
you." 

Mr.  Girdwood  nodded,  stepped  forward  and  pos- 
sessed himself  of  the  bird.  "  'Tis  a  pity  ye've  not 


Until  the  Spring  145 

tooken  better  care  o'  it,"  he  remarked  critically. 
"  Tis  shabby-like." 

"  Tak'  it  into  the  kitchen,  an'  I'll  get  ye  some- 
thing to  dust  it  wi'  an'  put  a  bit  gloss  on  its  feath- 
ers. James  Crow'll  be  fine  an'  pleased,  yell  see." 

Mr.  Girdwood  bore  the  bird  to  the  kitchen. 
"  Haste  ye  wi'  the  things  for  cleanin'  it,"  he  called 
quite  briskly.  And  for  the  next  two  hours  he  ap- 
peared almost  cheerful. 

The  tea-party  was  a  much  less  melancholy  affair 
than  might  have  been  expected.  The  old  people's 
depression  was  not  proof  against  the  happy  atmos- 
phere created  by  Jim  and  his  father;  along  with 
their  shyness  it  vanished  speedily.  And  then  Nevis, 
guessing  what  the  news  would  mean  to  the  old  man, 
told  him  of  the  sale  of  the  picture. 

"  My !  But  'twas  quick  work !  "  exclaimed  Mr. 
Girdwood.  "  Ye'll  excuse  me,  sir,  but  I  hope  ye 
didna  let  it  gang  over  cheap.  I  —  I  was  hopin'  ye 
would  maybe  get  a  hunderd  pound,  sir,"  he  added 
wistfully. 

Nevis  could  not  resist  telling  him  the  price. 

It  was  almost  too  much  for  Mr.  Girdwood.  For 
nearly  a  minute  he  sat  speechless,  stunned.  Then 
he  sat  up  in  his  chair,  and  a  smile  dawned  and 
broadened,  and  his  whole  being  seemed  to  swell 
with  gratification  and  importance. 


146  Jim 

And  he  banged  his  fist  on  the  table,  narrowly 
nissing  his  cup  and  saucer. 

"  Elizabeth !  "  he  roared,  "  did  ye  hear  that  ?  Mr. 
Nevis  has  gotten  twa  hunderd  an'  fifty  guineas  for 
a  picture  o'  me! " 

"  Ay,  ay,  Samuel,"  she  said  softly.  "  Tis  a 
great  honour  to  you,  to  be  sure." 

"  'Tis  a  great  honour  to  you  to  be  my  sister ! " 
he  returned  so  fiercely  that  Jim  was  on  the  point  of 
reminding  him  of  the  prize  of  the  previous  day. 

Nevis,  however,  changed  the  subject  by  saying 
pleasantly  that  he  hoped  Mr.  Girdwood  would  fa- 
vour him  with  more  sittings  in  the  spring;  he  was 
anxious  to  paint  a  fireside  portrait. 

At  this  the  old  man's  cup  of  satisfaction  brimmed 
over.  Countenance  and  voice  alike  softened  as  he 
turned  to  his  sister. 

"  Ye  was  right,  Elizabeth,"  he  murmured,  "  an' 
the  Lord  is  terrible  good  to  us." 

After  tea  they  passed  to  the  garden. 

Mr.  Girdwood,  with  many  badly  suppressed 
chuckles,  led  Jim  to  a  certain  bush,  parted  the 
leaves,  and  bade  him  peep  in. 

And  behold,  there  was  the  stuffed  owl! 

It  was  some  little  time  ere  the  boy's  delight  per- 
mitted him  to  return  coherent  thanks. 

"  Is  it  from  you,  Mr.  Sammy  ?  "  he  asked  at  last. 


Until  the  Spring  147 

Somehow  the  "  ay "  stuck  in  Mr.  Girdwood's 
throat.  He  coughed.  "  'Tis  from  us  both,"  he 
said,  not  without  difficulty,  and  added,  with  a  su- 
preme effort,  "  'Twas  her  notion,  James  Crow." 

Jim  flew  across  the  garden  and  embraced  the  old 
woman. 

"  But  'twas  Samuel's "  she  began. 

"  Aw,  clay  up,  Elizabeth !  "  cried  Mr.  Girdwood. 

Later  Mr.  Girdwood  enticed  Jim,  with  the 
promise  of  a  "  fun-dream,"  to  the  other  end  of 
the  garden. 

"  But  I'm  goin'  to  tell  ye  a  true  secret  first,"  he 
said  rather  nervously.  "  A  story's  jist  a  story,  an' 
maybe  it  doesna  matter  how  much  truth's  in  it,  but 
I've  got  to  draw  the  line,  James  Crow,  when  it 
comes  to  —  to  sheer  deceit."  He  paused  and  made 
a  gesture  in  Miss  Girdwood's  direction.  He  cleared 
his  throat,  hesitated,  sighed,  and  solemnly  whis- 
pered — 

"  She's  three  year  older'n  me." 

"Is  she?"  said  Jim  vaguely. 

"  I'm  sayin'  she's  three  years  older'n  me.  She's 
the  oldest  inhabitant." 

"  I  see,"  said  Jim,  cuddling  his  owl  and  wonder- 
ing what  all  the  solemnity  was  about.  "  And 
you're  the  oldest  doody,  Mr.  Sammy.  Now  tell  me 
the  true  secret." 

That  Mr.  Girdwood  was  more  annoyed  than  re- 


148  Jim 

lieved  by  his  indifferent  reception  of  his  tremen- 
dous confession  is  highly  probable,  yet  almost  im- 
mediately he  plunged  into  the  recital  of  a 
"  fun-dream  "  which  easily  surpassed  all  his  previous 
efforts  in  the  direction  of  fiction  —  so  far  so  that  the 
conclusion  found  his  listener  regarding  him  with 
more  doubt  than  admiration.  Happily,  however, 
ere  any  cross-questioning  could  take  place,  a  tele- 
gram arrived  for  Nevis.  It  was  from  one  of  the 
great  shipping  offices,  and  while  informing  Nevis 
that  the  required  passages  had  been  booked,  it 
turned  the  boy's  fancy  to  thoughts  of  ships  and  con- 
versation thereon. 

Later  Miss  Girdwood  plucked  at  her  brother's 
sleeve.  "  'Tis  time  we  was  goin',  Samuel." 

Jim  looked  up  at  her.  "  I'm  not  going  to  pack 
Mr.  Fun-Owl,  Mrs.  Sammy.  I'm  going  to  carry 
him  all  the  way  to  Africa.  I  'spect  he'll  be  glad 
to  get  back  to  Africa.  I'm  glad  Mr.  Sammy  hadn't 
to  eat  him  —  aren't  you?  " 

"  Surely,  dearie.  I  doubt  an  owl'd  be  poor 
eatin'.  I'm  thinkin'  Samuel  couldna  ha'  ett  it  any- 
way." 

Jim    turned    to     Mr.     Girdwood.     "  Did    you 

never  eat  an  owl,  Mr.   Sammy?     You  once  told 

)> 
me 

"  Ay,"  said  Mr.  Girdwood  firmly,  "  I've  ett  hun- 
derds  in  my  time." 


Until  the  Spring  149 

"  You  see,  Mrs.  Sammy,  you  don't  know  very 
much  about  Mr.  Sammy's  adventures." 

"  Nor  about  his  feastings,"  interposed  Nevis. 
"  Come,  Jim  Crow,  we'll  just  go  to  the  gate  with 
our  friends,  and  then  you  must  get  off  to  bed." 

Mr.  Girdwood  rose  from  the  seat  with  obvious 
reluctance. 

"  I'll  ha'  some  rare  stories  for  ye  when  ye  come 
back,  James  Crow,"  he  said. 

"  I  'spect  you  will,  Mr.  Sammy.  I'm  going  to 
have  some  adventures,  too;  and  I'm  going  to  ask 
all  the  people  in  Africa  about  you,  and  tell  them 
how  brave  you  were." 

"  Aw,"  Mr.  Girdwood  murmured  doubtfully,  "  I 
—  I  never  done  anything  worth  the  speakin'  about. 
An' — an'  Africa's  a  big  place,"  he  added,  a  trifle 
more  confidently ;  "  ye'll  not  likely  see  anybody  that 
kent  me." 

"  That's  truth,  anyway,"  remarked  Miss  Gird- 
wood the  least  thing  dryly.  But  she  patted  her 
brother's  arm. 

"  I'm  going  to  tell  Mother  all  about  you  —  about 
you  both,"  said  Jim.  "  And  you'll  see  her  when 
we  come  back  in  the  Spring." 

"  In  the  Spring,"  murmured  Mr.  Girdwood. 

"  In  the  Spring,"  his  sister  echoed. 

And  now  they  were  come  to  the  gate- 


150  Jim 

About  nine  o'clock  the  following  morning  a 
wagonette  was  being  driven  smartly  along  the  high- 
road. In  it  Nevis  sat  with  his  arm  round  his  boy, 
who  embraced  Mr.  Fun-Owl.  Jim  looked  radiantly 
happy,  and  perhaps  his  father's  gravity  was  only  of 
the  moment. 

"  There  they  are ! "  said  Nevis,  as  the  wagonette 
turned  a  bend  of  the  road.  "  Wave  to  them,  Jim 
Crow.  We  owe  them  a  good  deal,  don't  we?" 

"  We  do,  Doody,"  Jim  agreed,  with  an  affection- 
ate glance  at  his  owl  which  he  was  now  holding 
aloft. 

At  the  foot  of  the  green  slope  Mr.  and  Miss 
Girdwood  stood  by  the  little  rickety  gate.  They 
waved  a  table-cloth  between  them;  they  waved  it 
earnestly,  faithfully,  until  the  wagonette  passed 
from  their  view.  Then,  somehow,  they  both  let  go, 
and  it  fell  at  their  feet  unnoticed. 

They  stood  gazing  at  the  empty  road  until  with 
one  accord  came  their  whispers  — 

"  In  the  Spring." 

It's  an  old  heart  that  cannot  look  forward. 


THE  END 


ss&y, 


tYf 


